


Dreams of Yesterday

by deanniker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Baseball, Basically alternating fluff and angst, Bisexuality, Coming Out, M/M, Musician Castiel, So much angst, Sometimes Happy, Sometimes Sad, and sexytimes, idk how sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:12:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2687273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanniker/pseuds/deanniker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel knows what his life will be. He's going to graduate at the top of his class from Harvard and add to the family legacy. But then he sits next to Dean Winchester, baseball extraordinaire, and learns how to want. </p><p>If only things were so simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Not too bad, Castiel thinks as he looks over his schedule for the semester. Two Philosophy courses, Philosophy of Languge (which sounds interesting) and Philosophy of Law (which sounds terrible). In addition to his private lessons, he also has two electives, Introductory Microeconomics and a first year Environmental Studies class called Science and the Environment. With the exception of Environmental Studies, they are all scheduled in the afternoon so that Castiel can do his work early in the day. It's his third year of undergraduate study at Harvard.

His semester starts off badly though, because he sleeps through his alarm. He slips into Science and the Environment with one minute to spare and slides into the first seat he sees, next to a boy he doesn't know. Usually he tries to sit in a centralized location to maximize his learning potential, but one day off to the side won't ruin anything. 

It's not until roll call that Castiel realizes who he is sitting next to. 

Winchester, Dean.

Even Castiel has heard of Winchester, Dean. The school newspaper mentions him at least twice a month. According to the newspaper, he will go pro after he graduates. He was even recruited during his time in high school, but turned down a catching position with the Mets to play for Harvard instead. Like Castiel, he's a junior. 

Because it's an intro class, the professor insists that everyone introduces themselves. Castiel can physically see the girls in the class melt when Dean stands up. It's futile, because most of them are freshmen and Dean could have anyone, blessed as he is with good looks and athleticism. Castiel is mildly surprised when Dean says he is an Econ major with a concentration in Mathematics, because athletes tend to go for Physical Education or Communications. 

Castiel is more suprised when, after he introduces himself as a Philosophy major with a Music minor, Dean turns to him and asks what instrument he plays. 

"Piano," Castiel says. 

Dean smiles and says, "Awesome. Good for you." He sounds genuine about it too. He also looks at Castiel for a long time. There isn't anything nasty in it though, so Castiel holds his gaze. From this close he can see that Dean's eyes are green. A part of him wonders how many sponsorships Dean will get once he becomes a professional athlete. 

*

By the end of the next day, Castiel can tell that he is trouble. Philosophy of Law is just as dull as he feared it would be, and he understood so little in the one hour of Economics that he has has so far that he's worried about that one too. The Environmental Science class seems interesting enough, but Castiel has never had a science course in college, so he doesn't know how difficult it will be. Philosophy of Language seems good, at least. 

This time, he gets up on time and is not rushed to class. He picks a seat near the center of the room. The room fills slowly, and the seat next to him doesn't. That's fine with Castiel. He never underestimates the positive qualities of extra room. 

Dean is one of the last to arrive, and Castiel hears the girl behind him hold her breath. Dean surveys the class for a moment before dropping his notebook next to Castiel's and falling into the empty chair at Castiel's table. The girl behind Castiel lets out a sigh. Dean turns and asks with a grin, "How are your classes going?"

Castiel answers and turns the question around, so by the time the professor gets there they have had a surprisingly normal conversation, considering one of them is a nerdy workaholic and the other is a big name even at Harvard. There isn't even an awkwardness to it. 

On Friday, the seats aren't even half filled when Dean comes in, but he doesn't hesitate before making his way over to Castiel. When the time comes for them to select partners for their lab component, Dean looks at him with a smile and Castiel smiles hesitantly back. 

By the time Monday comes, he has to admit that this years schedule is not as trivial as he imagined it would be. He can barely make his way through the readings for Philosophy of Law, Economics doesn't make sense, and even though he doesn't have a music course, his instructor hasn't been giving him easy material. 

But when Dean gives his trademark smile and asks, "Classes still going good?" Castiel nods, because you only bitch to people you are friends with. Dean may sit next to him every day, but they haven't had a conversation outside of class. 

Castiel doesn't have anyone to bitch to. He sits next to Becky in Philosophy of Law, and she is always so happy that Castiel can't help hating her. Economics is mostly freshman, and he doesn't hate them on principle, but it seems like a lot of effort to make friends considering he's never going to see them again. 

He has Chuck in Philosophy of Language. Chuck was a Philosophy major before he switched to Journalism, but he still takes Philosophy classes for whatever reason. Castiel is grateful, because Chuck is one of the few people he can call a friend. He doesn't complain to Chuck though, because he keeps a blog and you never know what might end up there. 

His relationship with Dean is nice, even though they aren't close. It's comfortable to have someone to rely on in class for temporary companionship. 

A couple of weeks later, they don't get their lab finished during class time. Castiel offers to finish the report himself, but Dean looks insulted as he says, "I can't let you do all the work, dude." Castiel shrugs and says that they can meet to work on it. It takes them awhile to find time in their schedules that works around Dean's practices. They eventually have to push it to Sunday, and Castiel sighs in relief when Dean suggests they meet at ten in the morning. He hates leaving stuff until the last minute. 

They exchange phone numbers, and when Dean leaves, one of the freshmen in their class actually comes up to Castiel asking to see Dean's number. Castiel stares at her until she blushes and snaps something at him about boundaries. 

It doesn't take them long to finish on Sunday, and once they've printed out what they need to, Castiel stays seated and pulls out his readings for Philosophy of Law. He's waiting for Dean to leave when he notices that Dean is hauling out a textbook and calculator. 

"You're staying here?" Castiel blurts. 

"Yeah," says Dean with a sheepish grin. "Statistics is kicking my ass."

Castiel nods. "I am finding this year to be difficult in terms of course work as well. It must be especially difficult for you, with baseball," he says, remembering Dean's packed schedule. 

Dean chuckles. "Yeah, practice takes a machete to your free time, all right. You should know, though. Don't you have to practice?"

"Yes, but..." Castiel trails off. "It never feels like work."

"Good for you," Dean says. They do their work in silence, but when Dean leaves to get coffee he brings back two cups. 

*

For some reason, it continues this way. They study together. It becomes their table in the library. Castiel knows that Dean doesn't just use it when he is present, because he's walked in to find Dean already there. They don't talk much, which is fine and he wouldn't have continued to study with him if Dean talked unnecessarily. The coffees keep coming, from both sides. Castiel learns that Dean takes his coffee with hazelnut creamer and sugar; Dean knows to bring Castiel's coffee back black. 

Castiel learns other things too. Dean doesn't tell him in words, but he must have a slightly strained relationship with his father because he always winces when his phone lights up with the word  **DAD**. Castel also knows that when Dean's brother calls, Dean's face lights up. Castiel doesn't volunteer much information, but by now Dean knows that he is the youngest in his immediate family, with three older brothers already graduated and a sister who is still at Harvard. 

It's not much, but it's enough to push them from 'friendly acquaintances' to 'tentative friends.'

One day, a few weeks into October, Castiel leaves the library and is on his way back to his dorm when he hears, "Hey, Cas!"

Castiel stops and turns around, because even though there are only a few people who have ever called him that, he doubts there are many people Dean could be referring to.

Dean jogs up to him, and Castiel thinks to himself that Dean has one of the most effortless runs he has ever seen, moving toward him with a grace that Castiel could never hope to achieve. 

"Sorry, I just wanted to talk to you before you left, but you disappeared before I remembered."

Castiel shifts and says, "Okay." He never knows how to act when people talk to him. It's easier with Dean than it is with most people, but he's still awkward around him. It's unfortunate. 

Dean isn't fazed. "Listen," he says. "I wanted to know if you're going to the baseball game this weekend?"

Castiel blinks. "I was unaware that baseball had games in the fall. Isn't it a spring sport?"

"Yeah, but we have a fall tournament. Are you planning on going?"

"I -"

" - Cause I've got these tickets. They were for my dad and brother, but they live in Kansas and it turns out they can't make it. Here." He shoves a pair of tickets into Castiel's hands and jogs back to the library before Castiel can formulate an answer. He's left with a pair of tickets to a game he doesn't understand, and the only thing going through his mind is,  _he called me Cas_. 

He goes to the game, of course, because you don't get handed free tickets and not show up. He takes Anna with him. It's easy once he uses the excuse of, "You should see at least one sporting event before you graduate."

There are a lot of peanuts, and Castiel doesn't really understand the game, but he can guess that hitting the ball clear over the opposite fence is a good thing. 

Dean does it twice. He jogs around the bases in the same way he did outside the library, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. It's very different from the way he runs when he hits a ball into the dirt and sprints down the basepath in a desperate scramble. 

He also catches, and while that isn't nearly as interesting, Castiel admires the way Dean never seems to tire and is just as constant at the end of the game as he was at the beginning. 

Anna notices. Castiel can feel her eyes on him. "You watch Dean Winchester quite a lot," she says.

"He is the one who gave us these tickets. Of course I'm going to watch him."

"That's not what I meant, little brother."

"What do you mean, then?"

"He's very attractive," Anna says, eyes still on him.

"Yes." Castiel can't think of anything else to stay.

"Just be careful you don't fall."

"I'm not the one in danger of falling." As if to prove his point, on the next play Dean goes after a pop fly that leaves him sprawled on the ground with blood on his chin, but with the ball in his hands and a smile on his face. 

*

After the tournament, Dean becomes even more famous. Apparently he broke some sort of collegiate record, because Sports Illustrated comes out with an article about him. Castiel checks a copy out of the school library to see what the hype is. The article doesn't say much about Dean's personal history, which is what tempted him into reading the article, but it does make Castiel more aware that Dean is one of the best young baseball players currently in college. 

The ultimate downside is that Dean can't go anywhere without being asked for an autograph. Castiel doesn't see the appeal. Dean is talented, but he hasn't done anything yet. 

Dean always smiles and signs whatever they shove at him, but when they study together Castiel can see Dean's smile fall after his admirers leave. 

After a particularly flirtatious and aggressive encounter in the library that leaves Dean especially aggravated, Castiel pulls out a piece of paper and folds it into an elaborate heart. On the back he writes  **Dean + Castiel Forever.**

He slides it over to Dean and says, "Will you sign this for me Dean?"

Dean looks at the heart and looks at Castiel. Castiel stares back at him. 

Dean throws his head back and laughs. His entire body shakes, and Castiel smiles. 

When Dean finally calms down, wiping his eyes, he says, "Man, I have not laughed that long over something in a long time." Castiel's smile widens. "Thanks. It's nice to know someone around here has perspective."

"My pleasure."

Chuckling, Dean takes the heart and pulls out a pen. "Just for making me laugh like that, I will sign this monstrosity. Thanks, Cas."

Castiel stares at the heart that now has **XOXO - Dean** written on it. "You're welcome," he says hesitantly.

For some reason, this makes Dean laugh again. 

*

A few days after the Sports Illustrated article came out, Dean gets a call in class. The professor gets a look of fury at the sound of Dean's ringtone, which is an upbeat pop song with the lyrics "big booty bitches."

Dean gets up awkwardly. "Sorry, it's my dad, it's probably important-" He fumbles with the phone and drops it. He must have put it on speaker accidentally  because the entire class can hear, "Hey, Dean, good job on that article. We need to talk strategy on your next publicity option, I was thinking -" Dean shuts the phone off quickly, blushing. 

The professor smiles thinly. "If that is your idea of an important matter, then it's no wonder you need Novak as your partner to do your work for you."

Castiel's eyebrows rise to his hairline. Dean has never taken advantage of him in any way. In fact, he's the one who's been helping Castiel with his Economics homework. 

The classroom is completely silent. Dean stares at the professor in shock. After a few moments, Dean says, "You know what, screw you," and storms off.

Castiel stays through the rest of class, because heaven only knows what would happen if his family found out he had skipped a class. He gathers Dean's belongings at the end and approaches the professor. "It is not Dean's fault that his father called him in the middle of class, and it is not his fault that he has had a sudden increase in publicity. He is an exemplary lab partner and to call him otherwise in front of his classmates was both untrue and unprofessional." He leans closer. "If you ever do that again, I will go to the school board and report you for harassment." He leaves before the professor can respond. 

He doesn't know exactly where Dean lives, but he looks up his room online and hopes he hasn't switched since the beginning of the semester. As he walks into the building, he suddenly feels incredibly out of place. Athletes almost exclusively inhabit this hall, and Castiel feels like the proverbial sore thumb. He gamely makes his way up to the third floor and knocks on the door. 

Dean opens it, looking at him warily. 

"I brought your stuff," Castiel says. "I didn't think it would be a good idea for you to go yourself, you might have said something you would regret."

Dean's mouth turns down unhappily, so Castiel adds, "Of course, I mouthed off to him, so our grades might be low anyway."

Dean gives him a small smile. "Probably shouldn't have told him to screw himself."

"No. I probably shouldn't have threatened to get him fired."

"You did what!?"

Castiel sighs. "Not in so many words. But you'd be surprised how much influence my family has, and if he knows, that's probably what it would sound like."

Dean looks at him with something like impressed awe. Castiel feels acutely uncomfortably with that gaze directed at him. "Man, you are kinda tough for a little nerdy dude."

Castiel shuffles uncomfortably. He doesn't think he's being insulted, but it's still a little strange. Dean holds out his hands for his things and says, "Thanks. Want to come in?"

Castiel has nothing to do in the immediate future, so he follows Dean into the room. 

It's much sparer than he would have imagined. There is hardly any mess, and the only things on the wall are a Harvard pennant and another one for the Royals. The desk has two photos, one of a man with two young boys, and another of a woman. Castiel assumes that they are Dean's family. 

He had expected a black light, or at the very least posters of girls or bands. But the room is almost as impersonal as Castiel's. 

He is interrupted by Dean asking, "Want a beer?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not twenty-one."

Dean snorts. "We're in college. Here," he says, handing a beer to Castiel. "Drink up, Cas."

Castiel takes a cautious sip. He has no idea why people drink this stuff. It looks likes pee and tastes about as good. 

Dean chugs his, and something about the way he throws his head back makes Castiel pause. Light streams in through the window, illuminating him in a way that makes him look otherworldly. 

"I needed that," Dean says once he finishes. Dean suddenly realizes he's been staring at Dean's profile and looks away quickly. He takes an overlarge gulp of his own beer and chokes. Dean claps him on the back. "You got a drinking problem?" he asks, eyes twinkling. 

"It seems so." Dean laughs again. He pulls out another beer from his fridge, but takes sips from it instead of chugging it. "Are you twenty-one?" Castiel asks. 

"Yeah," Dean replies. "Couldn't risk losing my scholarship cause I've got beer in my room." He sits on his bed. "You gonna stand there awkwardly all day? Sit down, you're making me nervous."

Sitting on Dean's bed seems overly familiar, so he sits in the chair by Dean's desk. For a while, they sip their beer in silence. Halfway through, Castiel starts to get used to the taste, though he can't imagine  _wanting_ to drink it. 

He looks at Dean. He's fiddling with the label on his bottle and frowning. "Are you all right?" Castiel asks.

"Yeah," Dean says. He lifts his bottle and drinks. "I just hate when people assume things about me because I play baseball."

"I understand," Castiel says. "You know I don't think you're taking advantage of me, right? I mean, you're very smart."

Dean chuckles and shakes his hand. "I'm all right, but my brother Sam's the smart one. He's in his sophomore year of high school and he's already looking at colleges. Stanford and Princeton and shit."

"Does he play sports?"

"Nah. My dad tried to get him into baseball or football, but that didn't fly." Dean's smile turns bitter, and he takes another sip. "He's a nerd. Math club. Wants to be a lawyer when he grows up." He pauses. "What about you?"

Castiel frowns. "What about me?"

"You know," Dean waves his hand. "Hopes, dreams, long term goals."

"I'll become a professor here," Castiel says with surety. His life has been planned out almost since he was born, so he doesn't have any doubt. 

Dean does not look impressed. "You sound thrilled. Come on, Cas. If you didn't have to worry about money, what would you do?"

Castiel thinks, and realizes he doesn't know. He's not sure if anyone has ever asked him that question. "I haven't really thought about it."

"It's not that hard a question, Cas. What do you do that makes you happy?"

Castiel doesn't have to think about that one. "Music. Playing the piano."

"There you go. Speaking of, do you have any recitals coming up?"

"I've got one at the end of this semester."

"Sweet," Dean says with a smile. "I'll be there."

"That won't ruin your 'street cred?'"

Dean bursts out laughing. "Who uses air quotes anymore, Cas? Join the twenty-first century, jeez."

Castiel likes making Dean laugh. It's strange - usually he hates being the butt of a joke he doesn't understand, but he doesn't mind with Dean. 

"You have any homework you need to do?" Dean asks. 

Castiel blinks at the sudden change. "I guess not."

"What say you and me get wasted watching bad movies?"

"That sounds awful," Castiel answers flatly.

Dean laughs again. "It's not, trust me. I've got  _Bad Taste_ and  _Dead Alive_. We can have a Peter Jackson double feature."

"Who's Peter Jackson?"

Dean shoots him a look of exaggerated disgust. "Okay, we definitely have to now." He hops off his bed and starts rummaging around in a trunk beneath it. Castiel's mouth goes dry, and he suddenly understands what Anna was saying at the baseball game. He looks into his beer, blushing. 

"Hah!" Dean says triumphantly, holding up a pair of DVD's. He puts one of them in his computer and grabs some more beers from the fridge. Handing one to Castiel, he says, "Take a sip every time someone dies."

Castiel takes it. "That doesn't seem very nice."

Dean hops up on the bed again and pats the space next to him. Castiel climbs up, being careful to to touch. "It'll be great," Dean says. "Trust me."

Three hours later he's drunk and giggling at a lawnmower, even though he knows it shouldn't be funny. "This is disgusting," he tells Dean, laughing. 

"I know," Dean says. 

"Why do you even  _watch_ this," Castiel asks, looking away from the carnage and at Dean. He's smiling, a beer bottle resting against his lip, and he turns to look at Castiel. 

"You haven't been drinking," Dean says. Castiel thinks and yes, that's right. "They're already dead, Dean," he explains. 

"Still counts. You've missed like, a whole beer already."

Castiel looks at his bottle, only a quarter empty. "But -"

"No buts. Chug it, Cas. You have to."

Castiel frowns but Dean is in charge of the game, so he tips the bottle up and swallows the rest. When he is done, he burps, and Dean laughs. Castiel looks around, but there is no more beer. "Where is it?"

"We're at the end of the bloody part, you can stop now," Dean answers. Castiel wants to protest - Dean is sending very mixed messages about the rules of this game - but he tips to the side and it doesn't seem all that important with his face planted in Dean's upper arm.

Dean laughs and Castiel can feel his arm jiggling. Castiel laughs too, which makes Dean laugh harder. It's a very nice feeling. 

Dean's other hand grabs his shoulder and pushes Castiel away. Castiel groans, annoyed.  

"Dude, you're missing the movie," Dean chides. 

Castiel looks at the laptop, but the characters on the screen aren't real, unimportant, so he gives up on them in favor of watching Dean. It's much more pleasant than the movie. 

It ends, and Dean looks up from the screen at Castiel. He looks troubled, and that's not good, so Castiel leans forward, with the intention of making Dean look not-troubled.

When he's closed half the distance, Castiel thinks that maybe he thought of this plan purely for himself. It's too late to course-correct now, so Castiel goes with it. 

Dean turns his head before Castiel gets there, and Castiel's mouth ends up on Dean's ear instead, which is still very nice. He gives it a bit of a bite, because it seems like the thing to do, and chuckles when Dean gasps. Castiel shifts but loses his balance and slides down, so his mouth is on Dean's neck, which is also very nice. He can feel Dean's pulse jumping in his artery, and he presses a kiss to it. 

Suddenly, Dean is not there. Castiel falls face first into Dean's bed. 

"Ouch," he grumbles into the sheets. "My nose."

"Wow, you are  _drunk_ ," Dean's voice says from somewhere. Castiel can't see him, because all he can see is sheets. "Should have cut you off sooner."

Castiel doesn't know what that means, but Dean is saying it so he agrees, nodding. This causes his nose to scrape back and forth, and it hurts more. Then there are hands on him, and they pull him up only to push him back onto the bed in a different position. The cheap dorm light hurts his eyes, but his nose no longer does. He's not sure which one is worse. 

"There you go," says Dean. He lifts Castiel's legs onto the bed and takes of his shoes. Once his feet are free, the light shuts off. 

Castiel wakes during the middle of the night because something is on his knees. He grunts at it to go away, because the room is spinning. 

"Sorry, floor's a bitch to sleep on," Dean says, and a few minutes later the weight on his knees shifts and Castiel goes back to sleep.

*

Castiel wakes up and immediately wishes he hadn't. His mouth tastes like a toilet, but Castiel is impressed that he can taste anything at all, considering his tongue feels like it's coated in carpet. He needs water. 

He hears a soft snore, which is weird because even though he doesn't want to be, he knows he is awake. Then he feels something warm at his back and  _remembers_. 

Castiel freezes. Dean snores lightly again.

Moving  _very_ slowly and carefully, Castiel eases out of the bed. He manages to get out without waking Dean - they weren't entangled or anything,  _thank god -_ and collects his things as quietly as he can before slipping out of the door. It feels like a walk of shame, but even worse is that he steals a look at Dean and wishes that it was.

It's still in the morning, so Castiel has time to take a shower and choke down some toast before he has to go to class. He hunches his shoulders as he walks across campus, which is stupid, because he never sees Dean outside of their class or the library, but he can't stop himself. 

The next day, he's so anxiety-ridden that he considers not going to their shared class. His family always thought he'd be a grumpy drunk. They think he's  _straight_ , with the exception of Gabe and possible Anna.

In the end he goes to class, because having a moment of drunken idiocy is bad, but not as bad as hiding from the recipient of the drunken idiocy. 

The wait for Dean is painful. The professor glares at Castiel as soon as he walks in the door and keeps glaring at him. Castiel looks down at his table to avoid the stare and jumps when someone sits next to him.

"You look wired," Dean says. Castiel stares. "How are you feeling?"

"Umm," Castiel says, flabbergasted that Dean wasn't on the opposite side of the room with the safe, obviously heterosexual women. "Okay?"

"Dude," Dean says with a grin. "You were so drunk."

"Yes, I - sorry."

Dean waves a hand at him. "I've seen worse. Should have noticed that you were getting smashed sooner and done damage control."

That's not what Castiel was apologizing for, and there's no way Dean could have forgotten. There's an awkward silence while Castiel's muddled brain tries to make sense of what is happening. It's obvious Dean doesn't want to talk about it, which is what Castiel expected, but he though it would involve no talking at all. Eventually he ventures, "Those movies were terrible."

Dean had been tense, but he relaxes and grins. 

*

It's shocking, how easily they slip back into an easy friendship. They never bring up what Castiel did, and he's very grateful. 

He manages to get a 4.0, which is impressive considering he had to spend half his time practicing the piano. His recital is the last thing he needs to do before winter break and his uncle, who lives in Boston, is coming to watch so he has to be excellent or they'll want him to drop his minor.

Zachariah is waiting for him outside the concert hall, an indulgent smile on his face. Zachariah is Castiel's least favorite relative. His smiles are always pitying, except for the ones directed at Michael. Those ones are creepy. 

"Castiel." Zachariah looks at his watch as he speaks. "That was reasonably enjoyable. Not a complete waste of my evening."

"Thank you, Uncle," he says. He catches sight of Dean over Zachariah's shoulder. 

"I'll see you at Christmas dinner," Zachariah says, and leaves without another word.

Dean walks over and gives a questioning look. 'My uncle," Castiel explains. 

Dean watches Zachariah's retreating back. "No offense, but he looks like he's got a major stick up his ass."

"Yes," Castiel agrees.

"You were really good," Dean says. 

"Thank you," Castiel replies. "And thank you for coming."

Dean shrugs. "It was fun." He sticks his hands in his coat pockets. "I know I probably don't know anything, but for what it's worth, I think you're probably good enough to make a career out of it."

Castiel smiles. "Thanks."

"So, um," Dean kicks the ground. "You're done with finals - I'm done with finals. Do you want to do something? I've got _The Room._ Pretty much the worst movie ever made."

The warmth in Castiel's chest, put there by Dean's praise, turns to ice. "I don't think that would be wise," he says. "I need to pack.

Dean shrugs and says, "Yeah, me too. I'll see you around?"

Castiel nods. They stand there silently for a moment, until Dean claps him on the shoulder and walks off toward his dorm. 

 

*  *  *

 

The next semester is much better. He's got music classes again. Actually, he's got one more than he needs, and it doesn't fulfill a requirement for his minor. It does for the major. 

He doesn't see Dean for a few weeks, but he does eventually turn up in the library. It's taken some time for Castiel to figure out his piano schedule, so he's been putting in irregular study hours. Dean looks happy to see him. Castiel is definitely happy to see Dean. 

Before long, Dean has to beging practices for the spring season, and they hardly see each other. Castiel rearranges his schedule so that they study at the same time even though it makes him feel guilty. 

That ill advised almost kiss seems to have been forgotten by Dean, but though he tries, Castiel can't get it our of his head. Even harder for him to ignore, though, is the question that Dean asked him. What he wants to do with his life. Philosophy isn't uninteresting, but now when Castiel thinks about it, there's no excitement. He starts looking up major requirements and comparing to see what fits and what doesn't. 

It's possible. He could double major in Philosophy and Music if he takes classes over the summer. He could major in Music alone even if he doesn't, but the thought of telling his family that he wants to drop his philosophy major gives him a headache. 

He talks to his piano instructor during their next lesson. When he says he's thinking of adding the major, his teacher practically cries with happiness. 

"I've decided to double major," Castiel tells Dean the next time they are in the library together. 

Dean looks up from his work and grins. "Music?"

"Yes." 

"That's awesome," Dean says. "I bet that's a lot of work though, this late in the game."

"I'll have to take classes this summer," Castiel says. Dean winces and goes back to his work. "What about you?" Castiel asks suddenly. Dean looks up quizzically. "If you didn't have to worry about money?"

Dean sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. "It's stupid."

"I doubt that."

"Well, I guess if I wasn't so good at baseball I'd want to become a mechanic. I love cars. My dad has this Chevy Impala - we spent one summer when I was in high school working on it, and it was awesome. It has -" Dean goes on to list about a billion features and specifics on the car that Castiel doesn't understand. He smiles anyway. It's nice to hear Dean so excited about something. Even the few times they've talked about baseball, Dean hasn't been as enthusiastic. "That's why I'm majoring in Econ," Dean finishes. "I've taken some business classes, so if the baseball thing ever falls through, I could start something up."

"That's admirable, Castiel says, because it is.

"So you're staying here for the summer?" Dean asks. 

"Yes."

"So am I. I got a job and I want to stick around here anyway."

"I see," Castiel says. "I guess we'll be seeing each other."

Dean fiddles with his pen, taps it against his lip in thought. Castiel wishes he wouldn't do that. "Do you want to room together?"

"What?"

Dean shrugs. "We're both staying here. We could get a nicer place if we split the rent." Castiel is confused, and not a little wary. He can understand Dean forgiving him for slobbering all over him, but to be willing to live with him...

"Look," Dean continues, biting his lips. "I'm not that messy - okay, I am, but I don't have that much shit so it's easy to contain. And if it doesn't work during the summer, we can go our separate ways in the fall."

"Wait." Castiel's head is spinning. "You meant for next year also?"

Dean nods, looking sheepish. "I mean, I want to get off of campus, try actually living on my own without the dining hall and all this crap. If you don't want to, that's fine."

Castiel does want to. He has a feeling that his family won't be too happy with him once he announces he's changing his major and possibly his career, and there's every chance they'll cut him off. He'd prefer to have a place of residence if that happens. "You'd be happy to live with me?"

Dean smiles. "We're friends. I know we have basically nothing in common, but it works, right?"

"Yes," Castiel replies. Dean is completely right. "It does."

He doesn't tell his family until spring break, after they've already found a place. 

"So, what are your plans for this summer, Castiel?" Zachariah smiles at him the same way he always does, as if Castiel is a stupid child. He's turning twenty-one in a few months, there's no way to be treating him this way.

Nevertheless, Castiel keeps his face down and voice respectful as he says, "Actually, I was planning on taking some classes."

Hester frowns. "Why?"

This is his chance to tell them about his major change, which has already been registered on his transcript, but he changed the mailing address to his new apartment so they can't find out. Instead of telling them the truth, he says, "I am concerned about getting all of my preferred classes next year. Some are very popular, and I'd like to be sure."

Zachariah is still frowning, but Hester's face has softened somewhat. "That's wise," she says. "Are you living on campus?"

"No, I'm sharing an apartment with one of my friends." He hopes no one notices that he stuttered over the last word.

"What friend?" Zachariah asks. 

Castiel winces internally. His aunt and uncle are sharks. "Dean Winchester."

Predictably, Hester gasps, and Zachariah gets a glint in his eyes. "I didn't know you knew Dean Winchester, Castiel," he says. "You're better connected than I thought." For the first time that Castiel can remember, Zachariah is looking at him with respect, but Castiel almost prefers the looks of disinterest.

Anna, who is seated on his immediate right, looks at him with raised eyebrows. Gabe smirks at him from across the table. Castiel blushes. 

*

When summer comes, Dean and Castiel fall into a pattern. They don't see each other that often, because Dean wakes up at the crack of dawn to go running and Castiel stays on campus pretty much all day studying. Dean has an on campus job, but he stays pretty much exclusively in the admissions office, talking to athletics recruits. They almost always see each other at dinner, though. To Castiel's surprise, Dean is actually a decent cook, which is fortunate because Castiel has no skills whatsoever in the kitchen. He can make ramen, and that's about it.

"What do you want to do for your birthday?" Dean asks one day over burgers.

Castiel doesn't answer right away, because all he can thing about is how many of these burgers he wants to eat. At least a dozen. Maybe more. He'd become obese if it meant he could eat more of these burgers. 

Finally, he forces his mouth to stop inhaling burger long enough to answer Dean's question. "I don't know."

"It's your twenty-first, we're getting wasted."

Castiel freezes, thinking of the last time he got drunk. "I don't think -"

"Oh come on, Cas," Dean interrupts exasperatedly. "You have to. It's this Friday, right?" At Castiel's nod, he continues. "So you don't even have the lame ass excuse of class in the morning. "We're going out."

"But -"

"Shut up and eat your burger." Castiel does, because his burger is delicious. He'll just be more careful this time.

*

"Shots," Dean says to the bartender, a pretty blonde girl. "Three each for me and my friend here." He claps Castiel on the back. 

"Tequila?" she asks. 

Dean winks. "You got it."

When the shot glasses are filled, Dean says, "Watch me closely." He downs them one right after another. Castiel winces in anticipation.

"Your turn, Cas. Bottom's up."

Tequila is worse than beer. He tells Dean this, and Dean laughs. "It's just to get you buzzed quickly. No one really likes shots. Now what?"

"I don't know," Castiel says, annoyed. This wasn't his idea.

"Beer?" the bartender suggests. Castiel wrinkles his nose in distaste. 

"No beer," Dean tells her. "How about... two Horse's Necks."

"Sure thing," she tells them.

"What is a Horse Neck?" Castiel asks. 

"I think you'll like it," Dean says. 

Castiel does. "Is that ginger ale?" he asks. "I like ginger ale."

"Yep," Dean answers. Then, "Holy shit, slow down," when Castiel sucks the rest of the drink quickly through the straw. 

"Mm," Castiel says. "I like it. Another."

"No!" Dean practically shouts. "For god's sake, not right away."

"But I want it," Castiel protests. He didn't know alcohol could be like that, like warmth that filters into his brain and coats everything in a beautiful sheen. 

Dean shakes his head. "Yeah, no."

"Dean," Castiel growls. 

"How about a Shandy?" the bartender asks. "Wouldn't do that much damage."

Dean sighs. "Fine. But you better make it last, Cas."

They stagger out the door three hours and four Horse's Necks later. There was also something pink and delicious that Dean laughed long and hard about when he'd ordered it for Castiel. And something that had felt and tasted terrible, which Dean assured him was his own fault for not drinking the damned thing fast enough.

Castiel stumbles into a waiting cab. Dean, who switched to beer after his Horse's Neck, and is in much better shape, tells the driver their address. 

"Why are you not drunk?" Castiel asks. 

"I know my limits," Dean answers. "And I'm a little drunk."

By the time they get back to their apartment, Castiel is a little more sober. Enough to get up the stairs while Dean pays the driver. Dean has to open the door for him though, and catch him when he stubs his foot into the wall. "You're very large," Castiel tells him. 

Dean chuckles. "You're adorable when you're drunk," he says. 

Castiel's face burns. He stumbles through the door to his room and toward his bed. Luckily the floor is clear of obstacles and he makes it there without falling flat on his face. He collapses onto his bed and starts toeing off his shoes. Dean leaves, but comes back with a glass of water and sets it near the head of Castiel's bed. 

"Do you mean that?" Castiel asks. 

Dean pauses. "What?"

"That I'm..." Dean's face is blank. Castiel squeezes his eyes shut. He knows he should have kept his mouth shut, but Dean is beautiful in the dark. Is beautiful all the time. Castiel doesn't want to pine after him like some pathetic teenager, but... "I'm sorry," he whispers. "Being stupid."

There's a sigh above him. Castiel imagines that he can feel the air from Dean's mouth against his skin. Then, suddenly, there's a mouth covering his own. Castiel's jaw drops in surprise, and a tongue slips in and twines around his own. Castiel moans. 

When Castiel brings his hands up, Dean pulls away. Castiel opens his eyes. 

Dean is leaning over him. One of his hands is fisted in Castiel's hair. When did that happen? "Dean?" Castiel whispers. 

"Cas," Dean breathes. "This isn't..." He pulls his hand away and stand up. "We'll talk tomorrow."

And then he is gone. Castiel thinks about following him, demanding an explanation, but he can see how it would go. Castiel is in no condition to win an argument, not while his tongue is clumsy in his mouth. In the end he rolls over and falls asleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, his mouth tastes terrible again. The water Dean left is room temperature and stale, but it makes the fuzz on his tongue less fuzzy and wakes him up a bit more. 

He can smell eggs. 

Dean is scrambling eggs and sipping coffee, and when he looks at Castiel his face is blank. It makes Castiel furious, because he will not accept not talking about it as they did last time. He has enough self-respect to demand an explanation. 

"Last night," he says angrily. Dean sighs and points at the kitchen table with the spatula. Castiel glares and goes to the coffeemaker instead. He hears Dean turn off the stove and scrape the eggos out of the pan. When Castiel turns around, Dean has two plates in hand and is putting them on the rickety table. Castiel glowers and takes his coffee with him, because despite his anger he is hungry. 

He shovels the eggs into his mouth and tries not to enjoy them.

"Cas, about last night..." Dean says, when Castiel is finished. "I shouldn't have."

"No," Castiel says angrily. "You can't - I'm not a, a  _joke_. You don't have -"

Dean grabs the front of his shirt and jerks him forward. The corner of the table juts into Castiel's stomach and he grunts. That's when Dean kisses him, quick and hard. "You're not a joke," he breathes against Castiel's mouth. "What I meant was, I shouldn't have kissed you for the first time when we were both drunk."

"Oh," Castiel says. "But you -"

"Yeah," Dean grins, and Castiel is the one to pull them together this time.

Dean is right. It's much better when Castiel is sober. Dean doesn't taste good, like coffee and eggs and beer, but Castiel's hand on the nape of Dean's neck and the slick sound of their mouths makes up for it. Castiel wants to get closer, wants to swallow Dean whole, but the table is in the way, digging into him and making the angle awkward. Castiel hears the scrape of a chair, feels Dean's hands tugging him to his feet, and is almost annoyed that Dean beat him to the punch. Dean pulls him so that their bodies line up, and Castiel forgets to be annoyed. 

Dean is very large, not just tall, but strong and muscular. He manhandles him back into Castiel's room, kissing him the entire time, laughing when they bump into the walls of the hallway. When they finally get through the door, Dean swings him around and pushes him up against the wall. A thigh slides between his legs, and Castiel gasps and opens his eyes. 

Dean is grinning at him, but when Castiel bucks his hips to get some friction, the smile falls from his face and he groans low and deep. He bends forward to mouth at Castiel's neck and Castiel pulls him closer. Dean's hands slide under his shirt and thumb at his nipples. Castiel lets out an embarrassing whine and Dean hums and does it again. 

"You're good at this," Castiel gasps. "You've - ah - done this before."

"It's been awhile," Dean says. "Nice to know I've still got it."

"I've -" Castiel has to stop when Dean moves his mouth up to pay attention to the skin behind his ear. "I've never."

Dean pulls back, and Castiel fights the urge to blush. Twenty-one isn't that old, but it's old enough to seem like he's abstained this long on purpose. He hasn't, but he's not out and never tried to compensate for it.

Dean doesn't ask, just nods and says, "Okay." He kisses Castiel softly, moves his hands down to his hips. "Anytime you want to stop, just tell me," Dean whispers.

Castiel growls, and grabs Dean by the shoulders, spinning them around so that Dean is the one against the wall. "I don't want to stop," he says. He's never done this before, but he knows that he wants, and it's easy to guess that the next step is to slide a hand into Dean's boxers and curl his fingers into a fist. 

Dean's head thunks against the wall when Castiel squeezes, and a groan spills out of his lips. Castiel presses his own mouth against Dean's to capture his noises and starts working his hand over Dean's erection. 

It's more difficult than he thought it would be, the angle making it hard to mimic the same motions he uses on himself, but before long he figures out to make Dean's breath hitch with every pull. His hands grip Castiel's hips with brutal force. Castiel breaks away from Dean's mouth to whisper, "Let go, Dean," and he follows it up with a quick nip to Dean's ear, the same one he bit so long ago. Dean gasps his name and comes, warmth flooding over his hand. 

When Castiel looks at Dean, he's smiling lazily. "Was nice," he murmurs. 

Castiel is glad that it was, and he'd like to grow high off Dean's afterglow, but his cock is straining against his pants, demanding his attention. He shoves them down and pulls it out, breathing a sigh as he gets some relief. He closes his eyes and starts jerking off. 

He starts when a hand grabs his wrist and pulls him away, but his protest is cut short when that same hand closes around his dick. 

"Look, Cas," Dean says. "See how hard you are for me."

Castiel looks down. His cock is red and flushed, but what captivates him is Dean's hand, so different from Castiel's: fingers wider but not necessarily longer, tanned and strong when Castiel has only ever been pale and slender. They're spreading wetness along his length, and Castiel whimpers when he realizes that some of it must be Dean's come. 

"Dean," he gasps, when Dean's thumb starts to flick over the head.

"That's it, Cas," Dean's voice is quiet and calm in Castiel's ear. "That's it, I gotcha." He buries his face in Dean's shoulder and comes harder than he ever has in his life. 

" _Dean,"_ he breathes when he regains his breath, wonder making him sound wrecked. 

"Pretty awesome, right?" Dean asks playfully, and Castiel laughs. 

"Yes," he answers truthfully. 

"Listen," Dean says, and there is an edge in his voice that makes Castiel look up. The edge is also present in Dean's face. "I mean, I play baseball. If anyone found out..."

"Oh." Castiel backs away, putting some space between them. He hadn't been thinking. Of course this wasn't real. 

"That's not - obviously, if you don't want to, I'll understand," Dean says. "I  _like_ you. I - I want you, but..."

"But you can't," Castiel finishes for him, the words heavy and resigned.

" _We_ could," Dean insists, coming forward and reaching for him. "It would just have to be between the two of us."

"Between the two of us," Castiel repeats skeptically.

One of Dean's hands land on his shoulder. The other gestures to the room. "In here, we could be whatever we wanted." Dean's hand slides up to pull him into a brief, soft kiss. 

Castiel studies him. There's earnestness in Dean's eyes, and a vulnerability that means he'd leave him alone if Castiel asks. Hiding isn't what he wants to do, but he's not out to his family, and... Dean is... Dean. He doesn't want to go back to being friends. 

"Yes," Castiel whispers. "What we want."


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the summer flies by. Castiel and Dean go about their separate business during the day, but now when it's Castiel's turn to cook Dean slides up behind him in the kitchen and guides his hands with his own. Sometimes Castiel ambushes Dean by the door for a kiss, and they fall asleep in Castiel's bed together. 

The day before Dean starts his regular practice schedule again, Castiel makes a decision. 

They order pizza and watch a movie. It's Dean's turn to pick, so they watch  _300_ side by side on the couch with a bowl of shared popcorn between them. "Dean," Castiel says toward the end. "I'd like you to fuck me."

Dean around to stare at him, upending the mostly empty popcorn. Castiel fights the urge to look away. He's wanted it for a while now, and it's painfully obvious that Dean isn't going there if Castiel doesn't ask for it. He may have the least amount of experience between the two of them, but it's ridiculous to think that he's somehow fragile because of it. 

Dean is still staring. Eventually, he clears his throat and nods. "We can do that," he says. Castiel shivers at the way his voice has dropped and coarsened. Dean grabs his hand and holds it for the rest of the movie. Castiel stops watching, all his input narrowed to the way Dean's thigh is warm against his own and the circles Dean's thumb is rubbing into his hand. By the time the credits start to scroll, his heart is thudding heavily in his chest. 

Dean doesn't let go to shut the TV off, and when that's done he pulls Castiel to his feet. His eyes are dark, and the way they drag down Castiel's body is somehow different than it usually is. Dean is almost always playfull, good at pulling laughter out of Castiel without seeming to try. Now he's all intent, and Castiel turns to lead the way to the bedroom so he doesn't have to look at the overpowering want in Dean's eyes. 

"Anytime," Dean says as Castiel sits on the bed. "I'm serious, Cas. No suffering in silence crap." Castiel nods, and Dean leans forward to kiss him. "Tell me," Dean whispers.

"I will," Castiel says. And then, because it's killing him to know what's going to happen when nothing is, he adds, "Please, Dean."

"Take off your shirt," Dean orders, and reaches into the nightstand to pull out the lube and a condom. Castiel lifts his shirt up with fumbling fingers. Dean hasn't even touched him and he's already a mess. He starts on his pants next, but Dean's hands cover his and he says," "Let me."

Dean tugs his pants off like Castiel is a gift he is unwrapping, He pulls off Castiel's socks one at a time and is so gentle and reverent about it that Castiel's throat closes. He wants to say something, tell Dean to hurry it up, but he can't bear to break the silence as Dean trails his hands up Castiel's legs until he reaches his underwear. They get taken off just as slowly. "Feet on the bed," Dean instructs as he uncaps the lube. Castiel swallows hard and lies back, pulling his legs up. 

Dean grasps Castiel's cock first, pumping it a few times and making Castiel gasp before trailing his hand down to slide between his cheeks to Castiel's hole. Castiel's breath catches, but Dean just pauses, finger pressed lightly against his entrance. "Dean," Castiel says desperately. 

"Shit, Cas," Dean answers, and pushes his finger in. 

Castiel gasps and clutches at Dean where he can reach him, fisting his hands in Dean's shirt. It feels strange, but mostly it feels amazing. 

"You good?" Dean asks. 

Castiel nods, eyes wide. He shakes and shudders when Dean starts rubbing his finger in circles. For a second, Dean stops, but Castiel doesn't have to snap at him that he's fine to get him to start again. 

Before long, Castiel uses his shirt to pull Dean closer and whispers, "More, Dean. I can take it." Dean swallows audibly and pulls out his hand to squeeze some more lube onto his fingers. Then, much less hesitantly  he pushes two back into Castiel. Castiel groans as Dean starts moving them in rhythm in and out of him, adding a twist that makes Castiel's breath huff out in little moans. 

"Cas, fuck," Dean bites out. "Can't believe you're letting me..."

"Don't know what you do to me," Castiel groans at him. "Want to give you everything, please..."

"Me too," Dean says, and for a second he smiles. "Knew I was screwed from the moment you walked into that class."

"Dean, more."

Dean nods. "Hold on," he twists his hand, sending his fingers deeper, and they brush against something that makes Castiel arch his back and roll his hips trying to recapture it. "There we are," Dean says, and hits it again. 

"Dean," Castiel gasps, and if he didn't feel so good he'd be humiliated at the way he's writhing on the bed. As it is, all he can think about is getting Dean to hit that spot again. He lets out a whine when Dean pulls both of his fingers out that turns into an embarrassing yelp when Dean grabs him by the hips and yanks him forward. He's off balance for a second, legs flailing, but instinct has him wrapping them around Dean's waist. Dean keeps his left hand on his hip and pushes three fingers into Castiel with his other hand. He starts moving them deeper and faster than before, and Castiel's mouth falls open. He sounds ridiculous, moans and whimpers spilling out of is mouth no matter how hard he tries to keep them inside. When Dean leans down to kiss him Castiel is grateful not only for Dean's tongue in his mouth but for the way it's stifling his wanton cries. 

Castiel can barely think, not with Dean's fingers pistoning in and out as Dean licks into his mouth, but he somehow has the presence of mind to reciprocate, lifting one of his hands to cup Dean's cheek as he kisses him. The other he slides down. It's a mess of hands and legs, made harder by the fact that Dean keeps shoving his fingers into him, but Castiel eventually finds the place where Dean is hard in his jeans and squeezes. 

Dean groans into his mouth and grinds into his hand. He twists his mouth away from Castiel's and pants. "Fuck," he swears. He pulls away from Castiel so suddenly that he almost falls off the bed before catching himself. When he regains his balance, Dean is stripping, throwing first his shirt and than his pants onto the ground as if they've committed some horrible crime. He rips open the condom wrapper and rolls it onto his erection. He climbs up unto the bed and kisses Castiel once more before whispering against his lips, "Turn around."

Castiel nods and shifts, rising onto his hands and knees and positioning himself so that Dean has space behind him. He feels Dean kneeling up, the front of his legs against Castiel's thighs. There's a moment of nerves when he feels something larger and blunter than fingers nudge up against him, and then Dean is grasping him by the hips and sinking in slowly. Castiel can't do much but pant as Dean slides in. 

"Cas," Dean breathes. "All right?"

Castiel nods frantically. "Yes."

"You feel," Dean moans, and then he's pulling out slowly and thrusting in hard, forcing Castiel's breath out. "Fuck. So good, Cas."

"Yes," Castiel agrees. "Yes."

Dean groans and starts moving in a regular rhythm, keeping is slow as he pulls out and pushing in quickly. It's blissful torture. Castiel can't do anything but pant in time and push back as best he can. Dean slides his one of his hands up and tugs at Castiel's shoulder. Castiel isn't sure what he's meant to do, but when he arches his back to go with Dean's hand Dean's cock brushes up against his prostate. He thinks he sees stars, and he's dimly aware that he's whimpering and gasping every time Dean pushes into him. 

"God, Cas," Dean grunts from behind him. "Beautiful like this."

Castiel groans. "Please, Dean," he whispers, unsure of what he's asking for. Dean does, because his hand slides to Castiel's dick and it's just what he needs. It's too much, Dean behind him and in him and wrapped around him. and and orgasm rips through him. 

"Fuck," he registers Dean saying distantly, and he thrusts into Castiel wildly a few times, all finesse gone, before coming himself. 

Dean collapses, and Castiel's arms give way and he falls on top of the bed. His semen is warm but rapidly cooling against his skin, but Castiel can't bring himself to care that they've managed to ruin his sheets. Again. Not with Dean pressed against him, one of his hands stroking Castiel's bicep. They're breathing evens out together, and Castiel closes his eyes and for a moment pretends that they could be one person instead of two. 

Eventually, Dean pushes himself off of Castiel and without getting up, throws the condom towards the trashcan by the door. It misses and Castiel laughs, because Dean is a baseball star and he can't shoot a basket from eight feet. 

"Shut up," Dean says. He lies down next to Castiel and pulls the covers over them. 

*

Classes start again, but it doesn't change much. They don't share any subjects. Castiel keeps his piano schedule as closely in line with Dean's schedule as possible so that they can spend time together in the apartment. Castiel has no complaints. 

They both spend three out of their four weeks of winter break in Massachusetts, and since neither of them have any work or practicing to do, it's basically an excuse to have as much sex as is humanly possible. By the time school begins again, Castiel has used twenty canisters of Febreze and the apartment _still_ reeks. Dean thinks it's hilarious. 

In early March, Dean tells him over dinner, "My brother is thinking of visiting."

"Sam?" Castiel asks."Is it a college visit or a family visit?"

Dean shrugs. "Both, I think. Last time I asked, the nerd was dead set on Yale, but he's not stupid enough to rule out Harvard without checking it out first."

"I'm sure," Castiel says. He's heard enough about Sam to know that he's either a genius or Dean is delusional.

"So it would be okay? If he stayed with us?"

"Dean," Castiel says patiently. "He is your brother. Of course he can stay here."

"I-" Dean looks at his plate, pushes what little food there is left around with his fork. "I haven't told him about us."

"Oh." Not that Castiel is surprised. "Okay. We'll just take it easy. No making out on the couch in front of Sam."

Dean chuckles a little. "Yeah, all right."

Sam arrives two weeks later. Dean picks him up from the airport while Castiel cooks dinner. He's progressed enough that he can make spaghetti and meatballs without supervision and they still come out edible. 

"Here we are," Castiel hears Dean say, right before he rounds the corner into the kitchen, followed by Sam. 

Castiel has seen pictures of Dean's younger brother, but he must have hit a growth spurt recently, because at seventeen Sam is taller than Castiel and only the slightest bit shorter than Dean. 

"This is Cas, my roommate," Dean explains. "Cas, Sam."

"Hello, Sam," Castiel says. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too," Sam answers, cheeks dimpling when he smiles. Castiel doesn't understand how someone so tall can have a face that adorable. With the floppy hair, all Castiel wants to do is pinch his cheeks, even though he'd have to reach up to do it. 

"We'll dump your stuff in my room," Dean says, clapping Sam on the back. "You can sleep in there. I'll take the couch."

"I can sleep on the couch," Sam protests, but follows his brother down the hall anyway. Distantly, Castiel can hear Sam saying "... don't want to kick you out of your own bed..."

Dean hasn't slept in his own bed for a long time.

Castiel sets the table while Dean shows Sam the bathroom and the rest of the apartment. It doesn't take long, because calling their apartment small is generous. 

"So, Sam," Castiel says once they've started eating. "What schools are you looking into?"

"Um, well Yale is really nice," Sam replies. "But recently I've been looking into Stanford, they have a really good pre-Law program."

"Harvard has a great Law School," Dean points out. 

"Yeah, but for Law Stanford really focuses on undergrad," Sam answers. "Harvard is kind of all about the graduate departments."

Castiel intercedes, because he can see Dean about to snap. From what he's picked up, Dean always acts this way when Sam expresses disapproval of Dean's life. Castiel isn't sure where it stems from, though he assumes it's a big brother thing. As the youngest, Castiel can't relate, but he can help.

"My experience with the professors here has always been that they're very supportive of the undergrads." He touches Dean's arm under the table. Dean flinches away, but then he grabs Castiel's hand. "But then again, I'm not involved with the Law department at all," he adds. 

"Yeah," Sam says, oblivious to the interchange that just went on. "I'm not crossing Harvard off my list or anything, because I have a pretty good chance of getting in since Dean went here."

"That's true. My family has been going here for ages. One of the science building is actually named for my grandmother."

"Wow," Sam says, all bright eyes and enthusiasm. "That's so cool."

"You never told me that," Dean says. "Which one?"

Castiel ducks his head, embarrassed. Dean's eyes widen. "You've got to be shitting me. The one we had our class in?"

Castiel nods, and Dean bursts out laughing. "That's - that's just perfect. Beneath the table, he tightens his grip on Castiel's hand. 

Castiel pulls away, because Sam is starting to look at them quizzically. "I'll take your plate," he offers. Sam hands him his plate and wanders off toward the TV.

Dean joins him as he starts to load the dishes into the dishwasher. "You cooked, it's my turn to clean."

"Dean, it's fine," Castiel says firmly. "Spend time with your brother."

Dean glances into the living room, where Sam is examining the book/movie/picture shelf they keep things on. "You're awesome," he says, kissing Castiel on the cheek. Castiel blinks, not having expected that at all, not in clear view of Sam if he turns around. 

He finishes loading the dishwasher, but he doesn't start it because it makes so much noise that it's impossible to think with it running. Dean and Sam are on the couch, talking in low voices. Castiel doesn't want to intrude, so he pulls out his noise canceling headphones and sits down to listen to some of Mozart's concertos. 

When he pulls his headphones off, he hears Dean saying, "Yeah, he does that a lot."

He turns to look at the couch. Both Sam and Dean are looking at him: Dean fondly, and Sam in awe. "You were playing the air," Sam says wonderingly.

"Oh." Castiel looks at his hands. "Yes." He likes practicing along to music, with or without a piano. He always knows when he misses a note, and it helps him feel the timing for his own pieces.

Sam grins. "That is so awesome."

"I know," Dean laughs. "Can you believe his family didn't want him to go into music? He can also transcribe without a piano, _and_ he can play by ear."

"Sweet," says Sam, and Castiel is stunned. He hadn't realized how much Dean knows about his ability. Now that he thinks about it, he knows way too much about what Dean can do with a baseball, considering he watched his first game a little over a year ago.

"I'm going to bed," Castiel says, standing quickly to hide his confusion. "I'll see you in the morning. Don't forget to run the dishwasher."

"Yeah, I got it Cas," Dean calls after him. To Sam, lower but still loud enough for Castiel to hear, Dean says, "He's a little abrupt sometimes, but he's cool."

*

Castiel wakes up in to morning to knocking on his door. "Cas? Castiel?" Sam calls. Castiel grunts at him. "Do you know where Dean is? He promised to take me on a tour of campus this morning, but I - OH MY GOD!"

The last outburst is shouted, and Castiel opens his eyes blearily. Sam is gaping at him, mouth open and everything, and Castiel feels something shift behind him in the bed.

"I'm sorry," Sam stammers, backing out of the room. "I didn't - I'll just go."

"Whuzzgoinon?" Dean mumbles into Castiel's shoulder. Castiel dimly remembers Dean climbing over him in the middle of the night, grumbling about the couch being too damn uncomfortable and the dishwasher being too fucking loud. He wonders when he got so used to Dean coming into his bed that he doesn't even register is happening.

"Your brother just saw us," Castiel explains.

"Shit." Dean clambers out of bed and picks his shirt up from the floor. He was just wearing boxers last night, and even though Castiel always wears a shirt, it probably looked exactly like it is.

"We could say it was just because of the couch," Castiel offers.

"Nah," Dean says. "Sammy's known for years, he'd never buy it."

"I thought you said he didn't know?"

"I meant us specifically," Dean says. "Generally... well let's just say I was a bit of a slut in high school."

"Oh."

Dean crosses the room and touches Castiel on the shoulder. "Give me a couple of minutes?"

Castiel nods. Dean walks out of the room.

He gives Dean ten minutes, and is thinking about just staying in the room until Dean comes to get him or something, but he needs to pee, so he pads into the bathroom. As he's standing over the toilet debating the flush/don't flush dilemma, he realizes how ridiculous he's being. He flushes the toilet and stops in his room to pull on his bathrobe. Dean teases him about it, but sometimes he also grabs Castiel by the ties and pulls him in for a kiss.

He's given them enough time. Sam is sitting at the table, clutching a mug of coffee and eating a bowl of cereal. He blushes when he sees Castiel but there's nothing judgemental in his eyes. Something in Castiel's chest clenches. He looks to Dean because he has no idea how Dean wants to act now that the secret is out. Dean picks up another mug of coffee and gives it to him with a smirk and a slap to Castiel's ass. 

There's a choking noise, and when Castiel looks at Sam, there's milk running out of his nose. Dean laughs.

"Sammy and I are going to take a walk around campus this morning, and then he's gonna shadow me for the rest of the day," Dean tells him. "But I'll see you later? Do you want burgers for dinner?"

"I'll always eat your burgers," Castiel says.

There's another choking noise, and this time there's coffee coming out of Sam's nose.

"That's not innuendo, Sam, that's just the way he talks," Dean barks. "Get your head out of the gutter." Dean grins lewdly at Castiel. "Now, speaking of head..."

"Augh, Dean!" Sam shouts, throwing his hands into the air and upending his bowl, which was thankfully mostly empty. "You're such a jerk!" Dean chuckles and picks up the bowl, wiping the table clear of milk as Sam runs back into Dean's room. 

"I hope you weren't serious about that head," Castiel says quietly. "I don't want to alarm him."

"Strictly PG," Dean assures him. "We can keep the X-rated stuff for when we're alone. I'm not into exhibitionism."

Castiel nods and busies himself by pulling out a bowl for his own breakfast. "Hey, are you okay?" Dean asks. Castiel nods. "Cas, come on, what's wrong?" Dean's hands turn him around, and his eyes are worried. "Should I not have told him? I thought you'd be okay with it."

"It's not that. It's just... I don't think my family would even talk to me if I came out to them. They're very conservative."

"Hey, don't worry about that," Dean says earnestly. "If they can't accept you for you are, they're a bunch of dicks. You're awesome."

Castiel smiles shakily and goes about getting his breakfast. Lately the idea of telling his family has been causing a lot of stress, probably because he needs to tell them that he's switching career paths. He won't be able to put it off for much longer. 

When Sam comes out of Dean's room, Dean goes in to change. There isn't space in Castiel's shoebox bedroom for more clothes, so they just keep their things separate. 

Sam sits across from him as Castiel eats his cereal, and he exudes such an air of awkwardness that it's almost funny. It's like Sam has forgotten how to sit. He keeps shifting in his chair, running his hands through his hair, and clearing his throat. Castiel thinks about talking to him, but the knot in his stomach hasn't really lessened so he just eats his breakfast. When Dean comes back out, fully dressed and claps Sam on the back, Sam jumps about a foot in the air.

"Let's get this show on the road," Dean says as they head out the door. "See you later, Cas."

"Yeah, see you later," Sam echoes a moment later.

*

When Castiel gets back to the apartment, Dean and Sam are already there. Dean must have skipped practice. He's done that maybe one other time that Castiel knows about. 

"Hey," Dean says. "Burgers are almost ready."

"Good." Castiel looks around the kitchen. "Where's Sam?"

"Shower," Dean tells him. "He's been in there a long time. I think he shaves his legs and shampoos his hair like a girl."

"Can I do anything to help?" Castiel asks. 

Dean points to a cutting board where there are already tomatoes and pickles lined up. "Slice. And Sam's a vegetable freak, so don't worry about cutting up too many."

"Vegetables are good for you," Castiel points out as he picks up the knife.

"Whatever," Dean says. 

"Hey," Sam says from the hallway. His hair is wet and falling into his eyes. He looks a lot more relaxed than he did this morning. 

"Hello Sam," Castiel says. "How was your day?"

"Good," Sam answers. "The campus is really beautiful, I'll give it that much."

"It has a lot of history," Castiel agrees. "They don't call them the Ivy Leagues for nothing."

They eat the burgers in front of the television, watching _Ghostbusters._ It isn't Castiel's type of movie, because he doesn't understand most of the humor, but Sam and Dean constantly recite along with the movie and Castiel enjoys himself. During a lull, Dean leans over and whispers, "We'll watch something you pick next time. Even a creepy arthouse one."

"I'll hold you to that," Castiel whispers back. Dean smiles before relaxing back into his seat to shout along with Dan Aykroyd.

In bed - no hiding from Sam, Dean walked straight into Castiel's room as soon as Sam announced he wanted to get some sleep - Dean says, "I want to go to practice tomorrow, can you hang with Sam for me?"

It's a Saturday, so Castiel doesn't have anything pressing to do. "All right."

"Thanks." They don't exactly cuddle, but the bed is small and Dean likes to sleep on his stomach, so to save space he usually throws an arm over Castiel. It's enough body contact that Castiel doesn't so much hear Dean as feel him. "Make it up to you."

"It's no trouble," Castiel replies.

"Still," Dean says. 

*

Dean wakes up at his usual time the next morning, and Castiel stumbles up a few minutes after. Dean has already left. 

He tries to make an omelet. He always tries, but he never succeeds. By the time Sam comes out of Dean's room, Castiel has already give up and employed omelet to scramlet disaster control.

"Hi Castiel," Sam yawns. "Where's Dean?"

"Went for a run," Castiel answers. "Would you like some coffee?"

Sam nods vigorously. Castiel starts fiddling with the machine. "What were you making?" Sam asks. 

Castiel looks ruefully at his pan. "It was supposed to be an omelet. I haven't quite mastered the art."

"Yeah, omelets are hard," Sam agrees. "I think I'll just have cereal."

"I could try again," Castiel offers. 

"No dude, it's cool," Sam says, holding up one of his hands. It's eerie how much he sounds like Dean in that moment. "I really like cereal. I eat it everyday for breakfast at home."

"Maybe tomorrow Dean will make pancakes," Castiel says, handing the coffee cup to Sam. "Here, sit down and I'll get you some milk."

"So," Castiel says once they're both seated. "Dean goes straight from his run to baseball practice, and he's there until eleven thirty at least. I'm afraid you're stuck with me this morning. What would like to do?"

"I dunno," Sam shrugs. "What do you normally do on Saturdays?"

"Usually, I do homework and practice the piano," Castiel says. "I can take the day off, though. It's not a problem."

"Well," Sam says. "Dean would probably give me crap about it, but I have some homework too. Maybe we could do it at the same time?"

"That's fine with me."

“Ooh, could we do it in the library?” Sam asks eagerly. “Dean pointed it out to me yesterday, but we sort of blew past it.”

“Sure,” Castiel answers. “I usually study better there anyway.”

Observing Sam do his work is an experience, to say the least. He throws himself at everything with a manic glee in his eyes, which would scare Castiel if he hasn’t seen that look before on incoming freshmen. Four years at Harvard has dulled his appreciation of the academically obsessed. Castiel doesn’t have that much work he has to do because they just finished midterms, so he’s done before Sam and he watches him with a detached sort of awe.

Sam throws his pen down with a sigh and rotates his neck. Castiel doesn’t think he’s looked up once since he sat down. “Now what?” Sam asks.

“Well, this is usually the time I go to a practice room,” Castiel says, “but –“

“No, I want to hear you play. Dean goes on and on about how good you are.”

“Dean talks about me?” Castiel asks, perplexed.

“Yeah, I mean, never about,” Sam leans forward and whispers, “You know,” dramatically. Castiel wonders if it’s because he’s also been forced to sit through terrible movies and thinks this is the way rational people behave.

“I see.”

Castiel doesn’t play much, because for all Sam’s enthusiasm, listening to people practice the piano is deathly boring. He runs through all of his scales and a few etudes before working on a particularly difficult passage of Ravel's Gaspard.

He has one of his breakthrough moments, when he’ll suddenly just _get_ a piece after months of practicing the same four measures with no luck at all, and he doesn’t want to jinx it, so he stops and decides to have a quick play by ear session before calling it a day. “Sam,” he asks, “What’s your favorite song?”

Sam starts. He probably wasn’t expecting Castiel to ask anything of him. “Um, probably _Yesterday,_ by the Beatles.”

Castiel is familiar with it, but he can’t quite pull it up in his memory, so he finds it on his MP3 player and listens once. He pulls his headphones out and plays it back.

“Wow,” Sam says when he’s done. “That’s amazing.”

“Thank you,” Castiel says. “Well, that’s all I need to do.” This is a blatant lie – they’ve only been in there for a little over half an hour – but Sam doesn’t know any better. “I want to stop by the grocery store and get some milk, but it’s getting close to lunchtime so we should probably be heading back.”

“Okay,” Sam says, and follows him out. 

When they get back to the apartment, Dean has already made sandwiches and Castiel eats his gratefully as Sam chatters about the wonders of the library. “And then Cas practiced piano for a half-hour and then we came back,” Sam finishes.

Dean raises his eyebrows at Castiel, because if there’s anyone who’s aware of how long a musician needs to practice, it’s an athlete. Castiel shrugs; he practices a lot, and a lapse today shouldn’t be a big deal.

The afternoon is a lazy one – Sam leaves tomorrow morning, and Castiel spends most of the day reading and listening to music as Dean and Sam spend time together.

The next morning, Dean does make pancakes, and he drives Sam to the airport. Before Sam leaves, he gives Castiel a hug. It’s not the most pleasant hug Castiel has experienced, because Sam is all gangly limbs and bony angles, but it’s nice, because Sam hold him tight and whispers, “It was really good to meet you,” into Castiel’s ear.

As soon as Dean leaves, Castiel goes to the music building and practices all the things he was supposed to have mastered by his next lesson, and is relieved that everything is in order.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks when he gets back. “How are the pieces for your recital going?” 

“I’ll be ready.”

Dean smiles at him. “Already marked in my calendar, by the way,” he says. “I’ll be there.”

“I’m glad,” Castiel says.

“Well, the squirt is gone,” Dean says, “So you can exact your revenge on me for making you sit through _Ghostbusters_ for the thousandth time.”

“I just don’t find it that funny,” Castiel explains, grinning because he knows Dean is going to act offended.

Sure enough, Dean holds a hand up to his chest in mock horror. “Sacrilege,” he gasps. “Bill Murray is the funniest man alive.”

“Do you want to watch a movie tonight?” Castiel asks.

“Yeah, why not get it over with,” Dean says. “I’m sure whatever you pick will be suitably horrible.” Despite his words, Castiel can tell that Dean is teasing.

He picks _Sunrise_ , which is his absolute favorite movie.

A few minutes into it, Dean realizes that no one is going to start talking. “Dude, no,” he says. “This is a silent movie, isn’t it?” Then, a few minutes later, he bursts out, “Oh _no._ This is a chick flick. A chick flick, Cas.”

“Just watch,” Castiel admonishes. “You said you would watch what I picked. This is my favorite.”

Dean grumbles, but he watches the movie with only a few more grumbles.

Castiel smiles when it’s over. When he mutes the volume after the DVD reverts back to the menu screen, the apartment is suspiciously silent, and then there’s a sniffle.

“Dean,” Castiel asks, not sure he believes what he's hearing. “Are you crying?”

 “No!” Dean snaps, voice thick. “No, fuck you, I am not.”

“You were,” Castiel insists. “You were, you were crying.”

“I was not,” Dean says, but he’s drawing a hand down his face, and Castiel grins.

“Dean Winchester, crying about a silent movie chick flick,” Castiel laughs. “Who would have –“

Dean silences him by pulling him into a kiss. “I was not,” he whispers against Castiel’s lips. Castiel shakes his head, because he knows Dean is lying through his teeth, but he lets it go just this once, because to argue would mean having to stop kissing Dean.

Dean pulls him down so that Castiel is lying over him, relishing the feeling of Dean’s body melting into his own. Dean spreads his legs so that Castiel can slide between them to bring their erections together. “Dean,” Castiel moans when he feels hardness press up against his own. “Dean, I want –“ He breaks off to moan when Dean thrusts his hips up.

“You wanna fuck me, Cas?” Dean asks. “Is that what you want?”

Castiel's eyes snap open. He was just going to say  _you_ or  _everything_ but now there's no denying that the idea is filling him with heat. "Dean," he gasps. 

"Yeah, you want it," Dean says, grinning up at him. "Guess what? I want it too."

Castiel stares. How has his life come to this, where someone like Dean will grin up at him and say these words. "Yes," he says. His voice is hoarser that it usually is. He doesn't ask if Dean is sure, because Dean always knows what he wants. "Yes, we need..." He starts to get up, but Dean reaches beneath the couch and pulls out lube and a condom. "You planned this," Castiel accuses as he tugs on Dean's zipper. Dean lifts his hips obligingly and helps Castiel pull his pants down. Dean slides his hands up beneath Castiel's shirt, and Castiel takes it off obligingly before doing the same for Dean. 

Dean's naked, and Castiel fumbles with his belt to join him, but then Dean swings one of his legs over the back of the couch and draws the other up and holds it in place with his arm. Dean isn't that flexible, he's too muscular to be bendy, but he's  _holding himself open_ for Castiel and it's almost too much. He nearly comes in his pants just at the sight. He grinds the heel of his palm into his penis, praying that he holds long enough, and abandons his belt in favor of the lube. It squelches onto his palm, loud in the suddenly quiet apartment. Castiel takes a deep breath before sliding a finger in. 

Dean's breath hitches, but other than that he makes no sound. Castiel is suddenly, absurdly annoyed. Castiel is always the one reduced to a whimpering mess while Dean keeps it reasonably together. But not tonight, he promises. Tonight Dean is going to be the one to sigh, the one to moan and beg and weep for it.

When Castiel judges him ready, he works a second finger into Dean. Dean's breath speeds up, but he's still keeping his noises to himself, when they belong to Castiel. Castiel's response is to force a third finger in a little bit sooner than is wise, but Dean just takes that too, opening up around Castiel without complaint. Which is extremely gratifying, but not enough. He pulls his fingers out to take off his pants.

When Castiel rips open the condom, Dean shifts up on the couch to make room. With one last squeeze to the base of his cock - he wants this to last - Castiel kneels up and pushes in. He can't stop a groan from escaping when he bottoms out, searing heat and pressure ripping it out of him. Dean beautiful annoyance that he is, doesn't make a sound other than an exhale. In punishment, Castiel takes both of Dean's hands and presses them into the couch beside Dean's head with his own. Without the ability to hold it up, Dean's leg crosses over his back and he unhooks the other one from the back of the couch. Castiel can feel both of Dean's ankles in the small of his back. 

Dean pulls at him with his legs, but Castiel refuses to move until finally, finally, Dean groans deep and says, "Cas, fuck. You gotta fucking move. Haven't I taught you anything?"

Castiel grins in victory and starts a subtle, rocking motion. Dean does this occasionally when he wants to slow down, and it always drives Castiel crazy. Sure enough, Dean sighs in relief but before long he's squirming. There's not much he can do though, not with Castiel pressing him into the couch and keeping their fingers threaded together so that Dean is immobile. "Cas, dammit," Dean says weakly, voice strained. 

That's more along the lines of what he wants to hear, so he raises himself up, pulls out the tiniest bit further, and presses in deeper. Dean throws his head back and cries out. Castiel knows he's hit Dean's prostate. He keeps brushing that spot, reveling in the way Dean is now moaning in time with the roll of Castiel's hips. He keeps his strokes deep, barely pulling out.

"Please," Dean gasps, sounding absolutely wrecked. His hands twitch and squeeze Castiel's tighter every time he pushes in. Castiel takes mercy - he's starting to feel frustrated too - and starts thrusting properly, so that the slap of their skin echoes loud and obscene through the still air. Dean's mouth falls open, eyes almost pupil in the dark lighting, and Castiel slots their mouths together. Bent over like this, he can feel the vibration of Dean's chest as he moans and it feels like those noises are breaking down and reassembling his foundations. As he kisses Dean, he wonders if this moment right here, fucking Dean by the light of the stupid DVD menu is what love feels like. 

"Cas," Dean says, twisting his head. His arms strain upward, but Castiel presses his weight forward, keeping Dean pinned. "Please," Dean gasps. "I need..." Castiel can feel Dean's cock hard and thick between them, practically begging to be touched. "I need to come Cas, please."

Castiel leans down to lick Dean's collarbone and bites it gently. Dean shudders, whimpers, and all of a sudden Castiel feels warmth spreading across his stomach. He pulls back, startled. Dean's cock is pulsing, untouched. He hadn't meant to make that happen - he was just going to drag it out a little longer before touching him. He barely manages to thrust his hips one more time before he's coming too, Dean's name spilling shocked from his lips. 

Dean's eyes are squeezed shut. After a moment, he pushes at him, and this time Castiel lets himself be pushed, falling back and watching as Dean stalks off to the bathroom. He flinches when the door slams shut. He cleans himself up automatically and goes to the bathroom to listen at the door. "Dean?" he asks, voice low. He lays a tentative hand on the door knob, but thinks better of it and goes to his room. He turns the light off and tries to go to sleep. 

Dean comes in a few minutes later, and Castiel keeps his eyes closed, even when Dean speaks his name quietly. Dean sighs and gets into bed. "I know you're awake, you know." He pulls Castiel against him so they're spooning, and Castiel shifts so that they're fully pressed together despite himself. 

"I'm sorry," Castiel whispers. 

"Dude, no," Dean snorts against his ear. It tickles. "It was just really intense. Needed some space."

"Oh." Castiel hesitates before the next question. "But you enjoyed it?"

Dean laughs. "Yeah. Never been like that."

"Oh," Castiel says, much more happily.

"Don't get cocky," Dean says. "Remember, I taught you everything you know."

"Now  _you're_ getting cocky," Castiel shoots back.

"Shh," Dean says, and Castiel feels Dean kiss the back of his neck before he drifts off to sleep. 

*

The next two months of his life, Castiel is completely happy. This is not an exaggeration: Castiel is absolutely content. His classes are engaging, his piano studies go well, and his relationship with Dean becomes so comfortable that Castiel considers telling Dean he’s in love.

They’re tangled in each other one morning, after their finals are over and Castiel has played his recital and Dean has played his last regular season game. Castiel had gone to that one – there was a senior ceremony and after, they’d gone to a bar to celebrate. Neither of them has anything to do, so for once they are lying in bed lazily.

Castiel is half awake, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair, when their bedroom door bursts open. He jumps, and Dean does the same. He's always had better reflexes than Castiel, and he’s out of the bed and swinging a fist at the intruder before Castiel can blink.

The intruder drops him to the floor, and Dean scrambles to his feet. “Dad?” He asks, disbelievingly. “What the hell?”

Dean’s father sweeps his gaze over the room, and there’s nothing but disgust in his eyes. Castiel gulps when that gaze lands on him; absurdly, he wonders what his hair looks like – probably a terrible mess, like always.

“What are you doing here?” Dean hisses, eyes flicking between his father and Castiel.

“So it’s true,” Dean’s father says. “This _boy_ has turned you gay.”

“God damn it Dad, it doesn’t work like that, I _told_ you.”

John’s face darkens and he pulls Dean out of the room. Castiel springs into action and pulls on the first clean clothes he can find, hardly bothering to check if they’re his. He can hear shouting from Dean’s room, and when he steps into the hallway, he can make out the words.

“He makes me happy, Dad!” Dean shouts.

“You could be happy with a girl, Dean,” John shouts back. “You told me so yourself!”

“That’s not the point!”

“What about the draft?” John’s voice lowers, but to Castiel’s ears he sounds just as dangerous. “What happens if someone finds out?”

“I’m damn good at baseball, you made sure of that,” Dean snaps. “No way is everyone going to pass me up.”

“Maybe you’re right,” John says. “But what if you don’t get drafted in the early rounds? What about the signing bonus? Who’s gonna pay for Sam’s college, Dean, have you thought about that?”

Dead silence. Castiel’s chest turns to ice. Part of him wants to march in there, point out that it’s not _Dean’s_ responsibility to take care of Sam, but he knows that’s not true. It’s not true, because Dean believes it, and just like that Castiel also knows that John has won. 

He slips out of the apartment as quietly as he can. The front door is wide open, and Castiel has no idea how John got in, but it doesn’t matter. He walks to Harvard and goes to the music building and he plays. He plays every piece in his repertoire, even the ones from freshman year that he barely remembers.

When he finally runs out of things to play, it’s late afternoon and his stomach is rumbling.

Dean is gone. Completely gone, all of his things cleared out, nothing to show he was ever there except a stack of twenties on the kitchen counter that looks like it would cover Dean’s half of the rent for a few months. Castiel stands in that half-empty living room, and realizes that they never had one serious conversation about the future. In fact, he’s not sure they ever had a serious conversation at all, and he knows that some part of him saw this coming. That's why he had held back.

It’s poor timing, but Castiel’s celebratory post-graduation family dinner is the next week. After a week of eating his own terrible cooking, he’s grateful at least to eat something that doesn’t seem like it’s going to poison him. He’s less than grateful for the company. Michael and Lucifer are there for once, and Castiel doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing.

“So, Castiel,” Zachariah says, a sneer on his face, “Have you finished applying to grad-school?” 

“No,” Castiel says around a mouthful of chicken. Zachariah looks vaguely disgusted, so Castiel does him the courtesy of swallowing before explaining, “I found a job. With the Baltimore Symphony Orchestra.”

It’s almost funny how quickly all background noise grinds to a halt. Hester starts turning white, and Zachariah turns red. “What?”

“I majored in Music Performance,” Castiel explains, spooning himself another handful of peas. Anna is looking at him like he’s lost his mind, as are the majority of his cousins. Michael and Lucifer are as inscrutable as ever. Only Gabriel looks amused.

“What about the plan?” Zachariah splutters. “When did you find time for this?” He adds suspiciously.

“This summer.” Zachariah is clearly flabbergasted. As far as Castiel knows, no one has gone against the plan in recent memory. Gabriel and Balthazar might have considered it, Castiel’s not sure, but they’re both so lazy that they'd rather not fight the flow.

“You can’t just –“ Zachariah begins, but Naomi silences him with a look.

For a few moments, they eat awkwardly in silence. Hester laughs nervously, and asks, “Have you found a girl, at least?”

“I’m gay,” Castiel says. Anna chokes and Gabriel slaps her on the back, winking at Castiel as he does it.

Zachariah laughs. “This is some kind of joke, isn’t it? This whole dinner is an elaborate prank.”

“No prank,” Castiel assures him. “I come for cock and nothing else.”

Zachariah stands up, and there’s ice in his voice when he says, “Leave. Don’t come back.” Castiel looks to Michael. Zachariah may be the oldest in their extended family, but Michael is the head of their unit, and if he defends Castiel that might override Zachariah, but his oldest brother just looks at him dispassionately. Castiel looks away, grabs the nearest loaf of bread, and marches out. Gabriel applauds, and Castiel tries not to think about what Dean would say if he heard about this.

Castiel knows Dean would laugh. 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time jump whoot whoot.

SIX YEARS LATER

 

 

 

 

Castiel is coming out of the back stage door when he hears, “Castiel? Cas?” called out to him. 

He turns, because no one, especially not people who could be called his fans, calls him that. What he sees is a gigantic person waving at him with a huge smile. It’s the smile that stirs his memory, and he hazards a guess. “Sam?”

Impossibly, Sam smiles wider, coming towards him with all the enthusiasm that Castiel remembers. He’s grown, both taller and broader, and he towers over Castiel. On his arm is one of the most gorgeous women Castiel’s ever seen, of a height with Castiel. He glances at her feet, and is relieved to see that she’s wearing heels.

“I can’t believe you remember me,” Sam says. Castiel clears his throat, feeling awkward, and Sam must see it, because he smoothes it over by introducing the woman with him. “Cas, this is my girlfriend, Jess.”

“Hello,” Castiel says, because even though he has grown more comfortable in varied social situations, he has no idea how to deal with this.

“I told him this would be weird, but he insisted,” Jess says, rolling her eyes. Castiel immediately likes her.

“I must admit, I’m not used to past acquaintances coming up to me after performances with no warning,” Castiel says, and Sam blushes. “How are you, Sam, it’s been years.”

“I’m good,” Sam says. “Living in New York now. I saw your name on the bulletins and thought it would be cool.”

“Well, thank you for coming,” Castiel says.

“It was our pleasure.” Jess smiles. “Liszt. Wow.”

“You play?” Castiel asks.

Jess nods. “Some, when I was young. Private lessons, you know. Never quite got into it, though.”

Castiel understands. Music is a passion, not a skill, and it can’t truly be learned. “Would you like to get a drink?” He asks, hesitantly. He has no idea if this is proper protocol, but Sam grins, wide and happy, so Castiel goes with it. 

He learns that they’re both grad students at NYU. Sam is studying Law, and Jess is working towards her masters in education. Castiel privately wonders if she could get anymore picture perfect as he imagines her teaching third-graders.

“How long have you been with the New York Philharmonic?” Jess asks.

“About three years,” Castiel replies. “Before that I worked in Baltimore.”

“Sometimes I really wish I’d stuck it out with piano a little longer,” Jess confides. “I hated it while I played – no offense – but the way you played tonight…”

“Thank you,” Castiel says, and Jess excuses herself to the bathroom. There’s an awkward silence now that Sam and Castiel are alone, and _Dean_ hangs over them.

“Sam,” Castiel says quietly. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I did really want to hear you play,” Sam says. “But I came – I wanted to say I was sorry. I don’t know if you know, but I was the one who slipped up to Dad. About you and Dean.”

Castiel has suspected this for some time. There’s really not anyone else it could have been. “It’s all right, Sam,” he reassures him. “It would have ended then anyway.”

“But you were so happy together,” Sam protests. “I’m –“ But he stops at the return of his girlfriend and the conversation turns to other matters.

When Castiel gets back to his apartment, a large spacious place that looks out over the city, he sighs and pours himself a finger of whiskey. He hasn’t thought of Dean in a long time. Now he has Sam’s number programmed into his phone and plans to meet up again. He’s not sure how he feels about it. He likes Sam, enjoys talking to him casually, but there is that connection to his past that he's worked so hard to overcome.

Maybe it’s the whiskey that makes him do it, maybe it’s idle curiosity, but he fires up his computer and looks Dean Winchester up for the first time in ages.

There are a few things in here that he already knows – Dean was drafted in the first round by St. Louis, he made his Major League debut two years after, playing first base instead of catching – but there’s new information there too. He’s been to the all-Star game two times, gotten the Silver Slugger twice, and has a Golden Glove. Castiel doesn’t know what most of that means, because he stopped following baseball six years ago, but it all sounds very impressive.

Castiel started touring at age 25. He decides he has nothing to be ashamed of, and goes to bed. 

He becomes close with Sam and Jess. He takes them on tours of concert halls and gives them free tickets. In return, they give him companionship with people who don’t think in beats. It’s quite refreshing, especially when they drag him out of his apartment to take in the fresh air. It is awkward at first with Sam, but eventually they find common ground that didn’t involve Sam’s brother and it's _nice._ They had a similar taste in movies, and Castiel drags them to showings of his favorite movies in old theaters. 

They meet up once or twice a month, and in between, Sam sends him YouTube links to sneezing cats and things of that ilk. One day, one of his texts has a sub caption from Sam reading _Yay equality!_ Castiel opens the link without thinking, and it takes him to a news site screaming “College Football Player Comes Out.”

Castiel closes the window as quickly as he can, heart beating wildly. He is sure Sam didn’t mean any harm, was genuinely trying to be supportive friend, but it hurts.

It’s nothing compared to the hurt that comes a few months later, when Michael Sam gets drafted. Sam didn’t send him a link to the video, but Castiel sees it anyway, because it gets played all the time. Mostly on conservative shows talking about how it’s in bad taste, but all Castiel can see is love and support and everything that could have been. It’s stupid and he knows it, because six years was a long time ago and they wouldn’t have been ready for it, but Castiel feels jealousy and resentment coursing through him regardless. He drinks a good portion of a bottle of whiskey, and looks up the video of Dean’s draft announcement. Sam’s there, as is his father, and when his name is called Dean grins and hugs both of them. Perfectly fine, perfectly nice, and Castiel drinks the rest of his bottle and passes out on the couch.

He is deeply ashamed when he wakes up, not only because of his raging hangover, but because he got over this years ago. He dates, he enjoys himself, and it hasn’t worked out, but that doesn’t mean anything. He never compared, or did anything else clichéd, and now Sam walks into his life and six months later he’s glaring at the grooves of his couch because of Dean Winchester. His bed is less than twenty feet away but somehow he got consumed in so much bitterness that he couldn't stumble that extra distance. 

He tries not to hate Sam when he sees him next, and god seems to be smiling on him for once, because as soon as they spot him, Jess waves her hand in his face and Castiel is distracted by the diamond on her finger. Castiel smiles – they are sickeningly cute, and he’s happy for them – and offers them his congratulations. They spend practically the entire time talking about wedding plans and arrangements that need to be made, and Castiel is happy to join them.

During a meeting a few weeks later (Castiel has started to think of them as grueling sessions) they tell Castiel they’ve decided on a winter wedding, which is atypical, but Jess explains it away with, “We’re poor grad students, we’ll take the cheap seats. Besides, it’ll be easier to deal with Dean’s schedule.”

Sam laughs nervously and looks at Castiel, who keeps his face blank. He’s not an idiot. He knows Dean is going to be in the wedding ceremony at least, if not the best man.

“And if we do it at the beginning of winter break, we can have out honeymoon and come back smoking hot and tanned for the start of the semester,” Jess adds.

“An important consideration, I’m sure,” Castiel deadpans, and Jess laughs.

Later that evening, Sam hangs back and talks to Castiel in an undertone. “Jess wants to invite you to the wedding.”

“I know.” People don’t ask random acquaintances for opinions on venues. “I look forward to it.”

“You’d come?” Sam asks, confusion wrinkling his forehead.

Castiel doesn’t understand why Sam confuses him with a moody teenager: Castiel is a good five years older than him, and it’s ancient history. Sam and Jess are his friends. He’s not going to let a badly ended relationship get in the way of being there for them. “Of course,” he tells Sam.

“Oh.” Sam eyes him worriedly, but thankfully presses lets it slide. “In that case, could I ask you about something?”

“Yes,” Castiel answers.

“Not now,” Sam hisses, eyeing Jess – who is sitting on Castiel’s couch going through bridal magazines with a red pen – meaningfully. Castiel takes the hint and keeps quiet until Jess calls him for help with the bridesmaid dresses.

“Which one will look hotter?” Jess asks him.

Castiel looks at her in confusion. “I’m gay,” he tells her. He thought she knew this. He certainly doesn’t hide it anymore.

“I mean objectively,” she says, flapping the magazine in his face as Sam makes strange noises behind them. “Come on, Cas, I’m determined not to make all my bridesmaids hate me. Sam’s useless. Help me out.”

“Very well,” Castiel says, and sits down next to her.

“Oh my god,” Sam groans. “She’s been going on and on about wanting a gay best friend forever.”

“I just need someone to back me up when I tell you you need a haircut,” Jess says. 

“You do,” Castiel adds helpfully.

“Thank you Castiel,” Jess says as Sam groans. “Now, which one?”

*

A few months later, Castiel finds himself on a plane to Oregon. That’s where Jess’s family is from, and since most of Sam’s family friends are scattered around the country, it means they have to brave the Pacific Northwest winter. The wedding reception is going to be at a hotel along the coast, and that’s where he is staying. It’s raining the night he gets in, but the day of the wedding is dry, even though it’s cloudy. Sam and Jess eventually decided to get married in a botanical garden, which is somewhat cramped but very lovely. Castiel sits on Sam’s side, because Jess has a lot more people attending. Dean is there, obviously, but he’s Sam’s best man, and Castiel is seated at the back so he can’t see him that well. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not. He’s pretty sure they’ll have to interact eventually.

At the reception, Dean stands up. Castiel can see him a little more clearly now, since the lighting isn’t as strange, and despite knowing that it was coming, jumps at the sound of Dean’s voice. It's deeper and gruffer than Castiel remembers.

“Hello, everyone,” he starts. “Don’t worry, this won’t take long,” he says, winking. “This is usually the time the best man tells embarrassing stories about the groom, but I don’t need to do that – just look at him!” The crowd titters. Castiel hopes the other people at his table, friends of Sam’s from his college days, don’t notice that his hands are clenched into fists. He must be less over this than he thought. “I will say this for my brother, he must have special powers or something, because when I first met Jess, I thought she was way out of his league. She still is, obviously.” The crowd laughs again. “But honestly, Sam, Jess, I couldn’t be happier for you both. You are lovely together, and you put us all to shame. If everyone could be half so lucky - well, we'd still be jealous.” He lifts his glass in a toast and finishes, “To Sam and Jess. And keeping the rest of us on our toes.” Everyone echoes him, and Castiel does also, with a mental sigh of relief that that’s done.

Sam catches his eye, and Castiel takes that as his cue to start edging his way along the wall. Sam stands when Castiel is halfway to the front. “So, before the first dance, I’d like to say something. There’s one person here that I’d really like to thank that isn't listed anywhere, and that’s Castiel. Not many of you know him, but he’s been really helpful in planning this wedding and he’s kept Jess sane, which has in turn kept _me_ sane.” Jess is looking at Sam in confusion, because Sam and Castiel kept this a secret, even from her. Especially from her, Castiel supposes. “In addition to all of that, he agreed to kick this section off, so,” he turns to Jess and offers her a hand. “I know we had trouble picking a song, so I asked Cas if we had to.”

Castiel sits at the piano and starts playing the opening measures for _Can’t Help Falling in Love_ with _Your Song_ laid over top of it _,_ and Jess starts crying.

She’s kept herself together pretty well so far. It was Sam whose voice cracked during the vows and Sam whose eyes glittered as Jess was walking down the aisle, but it looks like this was the tipping point, because she cries into Sam’s shoulder for the duration of the song. Pretty much everybody else is crying with her, and she doesn’t look sad, but overwhelmingly happy. By the time Castiel takes his hands off the piano, they’re not so much dancing as draped around each other, and Castiel really hopes someone was taking video, because that’s the most gratifying performance he’s ever given.

They both run and hug him, and maybe Castiel is crying now a little bit, because he’s so glad they are his friends and they asked him to be here for this.

Later, when a DJ has taken over and the air is filled with 80’s dance music, Castiel heads to the bar. Despite having an internalized metronome, he can’t dance to save his life. He’s just ordered a tumbler of whiskey when he feels someone slide into the seat next to his. He has an inkling of who it might be, and it’s confirmed when a voice says, “Hey,” so similar and so different. 

“Hello, Dean,” he answers, and turns to face him.

Now that they’re close, Castiel can see the differences the years have made. Dean’s undeniably older, the crows’ feet at his eyes looking like they’ve started to stay there permanently. He’s put on a few pounds too, but not in a bad way. He just looks softer around the edges. His eyes are the same, though, as is the tentative half-smile on his face. He’s being sized up in a similar way, Castiel realizes, as Dean looks at him curiously.

Castiel clears his throat. “So,” he begins, and doesn’t know how to continue.

“That was nice,” Dean says quickly. “What you did for Sam and Jess, I mean,” he clarifies.

“They are my friends.”

“Yeah, I –“ Dean breaks off, runs a hand through his hair. 

He thought he was ready for this, but this is horrible. Dean looks so miserable, and even though he knows he shouldn't, Castiel's hands want to reach out and offer anything to make him feel better. He tightens his hands around his tumbler, deciding that it's better to look nervous and unsure than to do something else. “Is there something you want?” he asks.

“Can we talk?” Dean blurts. “Not here, I mean. Privately.”

Castiel considers. Dean’s looking for something. Closure, maybe, and that’s something that would be good for Castiel too. “I suppose. After this.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I’m in room 313.” Without further ado, he gets up and walks away.

Castiel blinks at the sudden departure. For a brief second, he thinks Dean’s headed there now, but instead he crosses the dance floor to talk to Sam and Jess. He stays through the rest of the evening, as does Castiel.

Once Sam and Jess leave, and the rest of the guests stumble back to their respective rooms, Castiel makes his way up to the third floor. He hesitates for a moment outside of the door before knocking. Dean pulls it open and Castiel walks in cautiously.

The room is nicer than Castiel’s. It has a mini-fridge in the kitchen and a balcony overlooking the sea.

“So,” Dean says, once Castiel has walked in and looked over the room. “I, uh – as soon as Sam told me you were going to be here, I made, like, a little speech. Anyway, here goes.” He takes a deep breath, and continues. “I am sorry about what happened. I’m sorry I let my dad push me around. I shouldn’t have left without talking to you.” Dean shrugs. “That’s it.”

“That wasn’t very long,” Castiel remarks.

Dean coughs awkwardly. “Yeah, well.”

“It’s all right,” Castiel says, taking pity on him. “It was doomed from the start.”

“I was a chickenshit coward,” Dean says.

“We both were,” Castiel points out. “I wasn’t out to anyone.”

“You are now, though,” Dean bites out. “And I’m not. Jesus – I couldn’t even talk to you at the bar without thinking about how someone might see us and think – fuck.”

“Dean,” Castiel says gently. “Your circumstances are different. It's not the same for you. It's fine, I understand.” Even if he doesn't want to. He has never been selfish, and he's not about to start now, not if it means jeopardizing Dean's career or happiness. 

Dean folds his arms, hunches in on himself. “I never deserved you,” he says quietly, so quietly Castiel is sure he wasn't meant to hear. He want's to say that Dean's wrong, that it was the other way around, but that will just make everything worse

They stand silently like that for a few minutes, the tension in Dean’s body so obvious that Castiel half expects him to break if either of them moves. Eventually, Dean lets out a huge sigh and the lines of his body relax. Castiel lets out his own breath too, unaware that he was holding it to begin with.  “Do you think we could be friends?” Dean asks.

“I don’t think so,” Castiel answers truthfully. “Friendship never really worked for us, did it?”

Dean meets his eyes briefly and nods. “So, I guess we should…” he starts, gesturing at the door.

“Yes,” says Castiel and allows Dean to lead him out of the room.

Dean opens the door and clears his throat. He seems to be grappling internally with something, and he sticks his hand out. Castiel takes it, surprised. “Have a nice life, Castiel,” Dean says.

Castile nods gravely. “You too, Dean.” There’s a brief upward twist to Dean’s mouth, and then the door closes between them and Castiel makes his way back to his room. That went much better than he’d expected.

*

After Sam and Jess’s wedding – even though Castiel is sure there can’t be causation behind it – Castiel’s life gets strangely better. All of a sudden, he’s getting offered guest lectures all over the country. Amazingly, a wealthy theater owner also gives Castiel the green light to play a concert made up entirely of his own pieces. Castiel’s been trying to break into the composing business for nearly as long as he’s been in New York, but so far he hasn’t had any luck. He’s torn between ecstatic and terrified. He doesn’t leave his apartment for a full week, agonizing over accidentals and key changes, until Sam and Jess stage an intervention and drag him to Central Park. They force him to eat food that doesn’t come out of a cardboard box. They also extract a promise from him to get sunshine at least once a week.

One day, in June, Castiel gets an email from Sam. It reads:

_Cas, the Cardinals are in town and Dean got us three tickets. He heavily implied that the third was for you if you wanted to come, but I’m sure we can find someone else if you can’t. For what it’s worth, it would get you away from your piano :)_

Castiel leans back. Sam probably meant the last sentence as a joke, but Castiel is sitting on his bench as he reads this, and he kind of feels disgusted with himself. He’s always tried to fight against being married to his work, and he knows he’s losing. He sends him a quick reply, accepting. He needs more variety in his life, no matter the source.

When he meets Jess outside the stadium, she looks at him like she knows. Castiel sighs and after greeting her says, “I guess Sam told you, then?”

“He didn’t give me any specifics, but he was acting really weird and I asked and he told me. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel tells her, to wipe away her guilty expression. “It’s all in the past. College was a long time ago."

“How long were you...” Jess asks. She hurries to add, “If you don’t want to tell me –“

“Almost a year,” Castiel interrupts quietly. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation though, so he asks, “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s in the clubhouse with Dean,” Jess explains. “We don’t have to wait for him, though, he’s got his ticket.” Then, bless her, she talks about her classes and Sam’s failed attempts at homecare until they find their seats.

Sam joins them a few minutes later, wearing a red WINCHESTER jersey and grinning widely. “The clubhouse is actually really cool,” he explains. “They have free food and all sorts of other stuff. I’ve been in the one in St. Louis when Dean first came up to the majors, and that one’s nicer, but I got to see the batting cages this time.”

“That sounds great,” Jess says, rolling her eyes and making a face at Castiel when Sam looks away. Castiel laughs, because it hadn’t even occurred to him that Jess might not like baseball. In everything else, she’s the ultimate ideal for guys, but it looks like she doesn’t like sports.

They have good seats, right along the first base foul line and near the dugout. The field looks a lot larger than the one at Harvard, but that could be an impression given by the stands.

The game is very similar to the few that Castiel had attended in college. The pitches are faster and the players older, but other than that everything is pretty much the same. Runners get on, runs score, time passes. Baseball is nothing if not repetitive.

Dean waved at them in the first inning when the Cardinals took the field, but it’s not until the seventh, when there’s a pitching change, that he comes over to talk to them. “Hey,” he says, putting his mitt on his head and leaning against the barrier. “How’s it going?”

“You tell me,” Sam says. “First game I’ve been at in ages and you lose.”

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Dean grins. They’re drawing curious looks from the fans around them. “I’m up to bat in a few, I’ll get us there,” he says cockily, winking.

“You haven’t been on base all night,” Castiel says, surprising himself, and Sam and Jess if their expressions are anything to go by. “Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.”

There’s a snort from the fan on Castiel’s right, a portly man in a Mets shirt. Dean shoots him an unimpressed look and points a finger at Castiel. “You’re asking for it, buddy,” he warns, and Castiel laughs.

The next inning, god help them, Dean knocks in two runs with a single to right field with two outs. It puts the Cardinals ahead, and after Dean hands his batting gloves and elbow guard to the first base coach, he turns and points directly to Castiel, a smirk large on his face.

“Well,” the Mets fan next to him says, “I’m not glad about it, but damn if that wasn’t badass. Babe Ruth calling his shot type badass.”

The last sentence is gibberish to Castiel, but Sam laughs, as does almost everyone in hearing range with the exception of Jess, who shoots Castiel a pleading look. Castiel shrugs at her. 

After the game, they wait around for Dean to shower off, and Castiel follows them back to Sam and Jess’s place. Sometime after the eighth, he’d agreed to have drinks with them before heading back to his apartment. 

Their socializing doesn’t last very long, because Sam and Jess both have to teach in the morning, and Castiel has to drive back and can’t get too drunk. Jess kicks everyone out once Sam and Dean start rehashing moments from the game for the fourth time. Dean and Castiel ride down the elevator together. He's had a much better time than he expected, the presence of Sam and Jess acting as a barrier to the awkward, but even now, when they're alone, there isn't any tension. It's... nice.

“Man, I showed you,” Dean says happily. Castiel wrinkles his nose, and Dean chuckles. Once his laughter fades out, Dean's face becomes graver, and he asks, “Do you really think we can’t be friends?”

Castiel says nothing.

“I mean, if you don’t want to be, that’s one thing,” Dean says. “I know it’s weird.”

“That’s not it,” Castiel says, too quickly.

“It’s not like we’d see each other that often,” Dean argues. “Couldn’t we at least try?”

“Try?”

Dean nods. “We could hang out. Maybe… Catch up.”

“It might make things less strange,” Castiel concedes. Whatever happened between them in the past, Sam and Jess are his friends  _now_. For their sake, they should try to work past their issues. "All right."

Dean grins. Still so bright after all these years.

By unspoken agreement Dean drives back with him to Castiel’s apartment. They stop at a liquor store on the way to pick up a pack of beer, because Castiel doesn’t keep any in his apartment. “Never developed a taste for it, huh?” Dean asks.

“No,” Castiel says. “I prefer whiskey,” he adds, because catching up surely includes sharing new tastes.

“Hey, whiskey’s not bad,” Dean says. “If I need to get drunk fast I go straight to my man Jack.”

“Do you do that often?” Castiel asks.

“Nah. When I fractured my hand a few weeks before the post-season. That sucked.”

They drive the rest of the way to Castiel’s apartment in silence. Dean whistles when Castiel opens the door.

Ah. Castiel had forgotten how messy it was in here. There’s manuscript paper scattered all over the floor and basically on every surface. “I’m sorry,” Castiel says as he picks up as best he can. “I forgot, I’m composing for a concert in December and I tend to get – obsessed.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Dean says, waving his hand airily. “Sam told me about the concert, I figured you’d be pretty swamped.”

Castiel straightens, perplexed. “You talk to Sam about me?”

Dean looks sheepish. “Yeah, a bit here and there, you know.”

Castiel doesn’t know, he’s never talked to Sam about Dean. For some reason, it makes him feel guilty.

“Anyway,” Dean says quickly. “Let’s get this party started.”

It’s a bit stilted at first, but once they’ve drunk a bit of their alcohol, it’s easier to talk. Dean tells Castiel about living in St. Louis, and Castiel in turn shares what it was like in Baltimore and how he had so much trouble finding an apartment in New York that he’d had to live in a hotel for the first six months and had lost all his savings.

“So how’d you get back in touch with Sam anyway?” Dean asks, when they’ve exhausted the easy topics. 

“He ambushed me after a performance,” Castiel says. “It was strange.”

“I bet,” Dean snorts. “I’m half convinced Sam is as tall as he is because he’d never be able to retain the amount of awkward he has in a normal body.”

Castiel laughs, because that is as accurate a description of Sam as he’s ever heard. “He is enormous,” Castiel agrees. “Must have been a shock for you.”

“Yeah, when I reached six two I figured I’d be the tall one.” Dean takes a sip of his beer and shrugs. “Oh well. I’m still better looking.”

Castiel thinks that’s probably true, but he doesn’t say anything.

“What about you?” Dean asks. “Did you outgrow any of your brothers?”

“I don’t know. Well – except for Gabriel, which I have. He’s the only one I still see.”

Dean looks at him over the top of his beer. “They didn’t take it that well?”

Castiel nods. “Well, I did goad them into throwing me out, I suppose,” he concedes. “I said, ‘I come for cock and nothing else.’ Not the best way I could have phrased it.”

For a second Dean just stares. Then he bursts into laughter. “You said that!?”

Castiel shrugs and nods. 

“Oh man,” Dean gasps. “That is classic. You should patent that. Put it on a T-shirt.”

“Maybe,” Castiel says.

Eventually, Dean’s laughter subsides. He looks away from Castiel and says, to his feet. “Good on you though. Being honest.”

Castiel clears his throat, unsure how to answer, and Dean finishes his beer. “I’ve got a game tomorrow, I can’t get smashed. Think I should call it a night.”

“You could stay here, if you want,” Castiel offers. He has a blow up mattress somewhere, though in truth he doesn’t know if it still works.

“Nah,” Dean says. “I’ll take a cab back to my hotel."

Castiel nods and starts putting things away as Dean puts on his shoes. “Listen,” Dean says, “This was good, wasn’t it?” Castiel can’t lie, so he nods. “I leave town after the game tomorrow, but I think we have an interdivisional series against the Yankees sometime. Maybe we could do this again?”

“That would be nice,” Castiel says.

“And um, if you’re ever in St. Louis, give me a call. I know this place that does really good barbeque. I bet you’d like it.”

“I don’t have your number,” Castiel says. He’d deleted it nearly four years ago, but it wouldn’t surprise him if Dean has a new one. Judging from Dean’s total nonchalance as he writes it out, he’s right.

“See you,” Dean says as he walks out the door.

*

Castiel plays his concert before he sees Dean again. Dean played in the All-Star game, and for the first time in close to four years, Castiel watched. He’d gone over to Sam and Jess’s and he and Jess sat next to each other as Sam shouted at the screen, rolling their eyes simultaneously each time Sam got overly involved and frustrated. At the end, Sam tells him he got three tickets to one of the games against the Yankees, and Castiel agrees to go along.

The tickets are for the first base side, and again, Dean doesn’t talk to them before the seventh. After a bit of banter back and forth – unfortunately Dean already had a single and a double by the time the seventh inning rolls around – Dean says to Cas, “We hanging out later?”

Castiel nods. He already bought some beer, and he has plenty of whiskey for himself.

Dean grins. “Awesome,” he says, before jogging away.

Sam eyes him worriedly and opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but Jess elbows him in the stomach. Under her breath, but still loud enough for Castiel to hear, she whispers, “He’s a grown man, he knows what he’s doing.”

When the game is over, Castiel says goodbye to Sam and Jess before they head to their car. He’s supposed to wait for Dean again.

“Hey,” Dean calls when Castiel sees him. He’s freshly showered and clean.

“Congratulations on the win,” Castiel says.

“Thanks,” Dean says. “So, shall we go?”

He parked a long way away, and it occurs to him that he could have brought the car around. When he tells Dean this, Dean shrugs and says, “It’s not a big deal.”

The drive to Castiel’s apartment is shorter from Yankees stadium than from the Mets stadium. It’s too bad that the Cardinals are in the same league as the Mets.

“It’s a lot cleaner in here,” Dean remarks, when they finally get into Castiel’s building.

“The concert is done,” Castiel says. ‘And I knew you were coming, so I straightened up.”

A few hours later, after they’ve talked about how Dean’s season is going and how Castiel’s schedule looks and a lot of other banal things, Dean says. “I want to ask you something. Feel free to not answer, all right?” At Castiel’s nod, he continues. “Do you have any regrets? About our relationship?”

Castiel looks up, startled. They’ve successfully avoided all relationship talk since the night of the wedding, and he’s not sure he’s comfortable with this line of inquiry. “One,” he says finally.

“What is it?” Dean asks. Castiel presses his lips together and shakes his head. It’s too personal, and there’s no point in sharing it now. Dean watches him for a minute, and when it becomes clear that Castiel isn’t going to answer, he nods and leans back. “You seeing anyone?” He asks. 

This is also not something Castiel is particularly comfortable discussing, but if they are friends they would know this about each other. “I’m not. You?”

Dean shakes his head. If he thinks this conversation is awkward, he’s doing a good job of hiding it. “It’s hard, being on the road half the year.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone,” Castiel assures him. “You’re very attractive, and even if you weren’t, you make it easy for people to love you.”

On the couch, Dean stills. He looks at Castiel with wide eyes. “Did you?” He whispers.

Castiel’s throat closes. He hadn’t even meant it that way; he’d simply meant that Dean was a good man, a beautiful soul despite everything. He opens his mouth to deny it, but no words come out. He’s grateful he’s seated in the armchair, with a bit of extra space, but that gratefulness evaporates when Dean sets his beer on the coffee table and advances toward him.

“You did,” Dean says. Castiel can’t deny it. He’s not even sure if he should. Dean towers over him as he asks his next question. “What about now?”

Castiel licks his lips nervously. “What?”

Dean leans down to look in Castiel’s eyes. “What about now?” He repeats slowly, voice low and dangerous.

“I – I don’t – I don’t know,” Castiel says, flustered.

Dean reaches out with both arms and grabs the back of Castiel’s armchair. “What does that mean?”

He’s too close. Castiel reaches out and pushes him away, standing and backing away so that he regains a bit of breathing room. Jess was wrong. He doesn't know what he's doing at all. He clutches his glass of whiskey to his chest like a shield and doesn’t answer.

“Cas,” Dean growls. “What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t know,” Castiel hisses. “What do you want me to say? It doesn’t even matter, I’m out and I’m not getting dragged back in there, least of all with you.”

Dean stands there, face unreadable, which hurts. There was a time when Castiel knew almost exactly what Dean was thinking from his eyes alone. Maybe that explains why he finds himself saying, “I can’t believe – I was over you, I _was_ – and then your stupid brother showed up and – now I can’t even – why would you ask – I –“

Dean lunges for him and grabs him by the shoulders. Castiel wasn’t expecting it, didn’t remember that Dean could move that fast, and then Dean is kissing him. Castiel drops the glass. He hears it thump into the carpet, it’s contents probably spilling everywhere and creating a stain. He brings his hands up to push Dean away, but somewhere along the way they get confused and pull Dean closer instead. Dean groans and grabs Castiel by the hair with both hands, tilting his face so that he can kiss him harder.

Dean kisses him until Castiel can’t breathe. He’s actually lightheaded when Dean finally pulls away, and after a few gasping breaths, he realizes that Dean has crowded him against the wall. “Dean,” he gasps before Dean’s mouth is back on his. There’s nowhere for Castiel to go, caught between Dean and the wall. Dean’s hands are still fisted in his hair, keeping him essential immobile. Castiel’s hands curl around Dean’s shoulders tightly as he lets Dean plunder his mouth.

With one last bite to his lip, Dean pulls away. Castiel tries to follow him, but Dean moves one of his hands to Castiel’s chest and it keeps him pinned against the wall. The other he places lightly against Castiel’s mouth, fingertips teasing at the seam but with no pressure. 

It’s a question, Castiel knows. Dean is – albeit in a very roundabout way – asking permission. For a brief moment, Castiel considers stopping this. It’s probably the wise thing to do. If he keeps his lips sealed Dean's face will fall and harden, he'll pull away and be out of Castiel's life.

Castiel opens his mouth and sucks Dean’s fingers in. He releases Dean’s shoulders and struggles to push his pants down. Dean is still keeping him pinned against the wall, and he can’t even get them past his knees.

This happened so suddenly that Castiel isn’t even hard when Dean pulls his fingers out and reaches behind him. There’s lube in the bedroom, and a bed, and it would be more comfortable to do it there, but right now this seems perfect. Castiel has done this before, in clubs and with a few of his partners, and he knows he’ll be fine as long as the condom has a bit of lube.

He still winces when two of Dean’s fingers press inside, just a bit too dry and quick. Dean persists, pushing up deeper before drawing out and shoving them up again. Castiel gasps, mostly in pain, but with a little bit of pleasure that grows with every push of Dean’s fingers. When Dean brushes against his prostate, he moans and spreads his legs as much as he can. Dean withdraws his hand and spits in it before going back with three fingers. 

Castiel is hard now, and when Dean speeds up the movement of his hand, Castiel strains against his arm to reach into Dean’s back pocket. Dean doesn’t make it easy for him, but eventually Castiel is able to retrieve Dean’s wallet. He flips through it until he finds a condom – Dean had always been the more optimistic of the two of them – and then he lets the wallet drop once he’s got it in his hands. He places it between his teeth to pull Dean’s zipper down. Dean groans at the sight and shoves his fingers even deeper. Castiel matches him by letting out a groan of his own and ripping open the wrapper. He rolls the condom onto Dean with trembling fingers.

Dean spins him around to face the wall. Castiel nearly overbalances because his pants are still tangled around his legs, so he slaps his hands up to brace himself. Dean doesn’t wait, just grabs Castiel’s hips and shoves into him. He doesn’t give Castiel any time to adjust either and fucks him punishingly. It hurts, a little, but Castiel just takes it. He wants it to hurt, _needs_ it to hurt, to remind him that this isn’t permanent. This is a rushed, bitter thing that will be over in the morning. Maybe even sooner.

Despite his melancholy thoughts, it doesn’t take long for Castiel to come. He likes the intimacy of looking into his partner’s eyes during sex, but there’s always been a part of him that thrills in this position, at the desperation of it. When Dean wraps his hand around him and jerks him in time to his thrusts, Castiel doesn’t have any trouble reaching for that peak. He falls over the edge with a slight whimper, and Dean fucks him through it, keeps fucking him until Castiel is shaking from the over-stimulation.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Dean says. He sounds strange, not like a man on the verge of orgasm, and it’s on the tip of Castiel’s tongue to ask if something is wrong, but then Dean is coming, fingers digging into Castiel’s hips hard enough to hurt and answering the question anyway.

Castiel lets out a sigh when Dean pulls out of him. He’d like to think that with a release of sexual tension, they could move past their history, but if there is anything that this proves it's that Castiel can't. He closes his eyes and tries to beat down the ache in his chest. He can hear Dean throwing the condom into the trash and picking up his whiskey glass from where it fell. Castiel should go get a towel and baking soda or something. He should start putting himself back together. When he pulls up his pants, Dean is suddenly there again, a warm line against Castiel’s back as his hands cover Castiel’s. They pull his boxers up but push his pants down, and Dean moves to kneel in front of him as he takes Castiel’s shoes off one at a time.

Castiel has no idea what’s going on. This isn’t a rulebook he’s familiar with. When Dean tugs his pants down the rest of the way and lifts Castiel’s feet, Castiel steps out of his pants. When Dean stands up and lays a hand on Castiel’s cheek, he lets him move in and kiss him. It’s gentle. There’s no hint of sex but a promise of intimacy, a far cry from what started the night on a path to something Castiel knows he will regret, but for right now he decides to ignore the voice in his head for a little longer. It’s easy to let Dean kiss him softly. When Dean takes him by the hand and tugs him into his bedroom, he follows. Dean pushes him onto the bed and takes off his own clothes, leaving just his boxers. When he’s done, he slides the covers over them both and lies on his stomach, and even though the bed is much bigger than the one they shared in their apartment, Dean throws and arm over him.

“I didn’t fight for you,” Castiel finds himself saying.

“Huh?” Dean rumbles.

“My regret. When your father came, I didn’t do anything. I just let you go.”

Dean shifts and when Castiel turns his head Dean is looking at him. “I would have left anyway,” Dean says. 

“I know,” Castiel says. In the dark he can’t quite see Dean’s expression or meet his eyes. “But I should have fought for you anyway. You were –“ _the best thing that had happened to me_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “I just –“ He remembers coming back to the half-empty apartment and it’s stack of twenties. He lets out his breath and isn’t surprised when it hitches. Wetness spills from his eyes. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean says, resting a hand on Castiel’s cheek and brushing his thumb along it to wipe away the tears, and that little gesture, the fact that Dean is still giving and letting Castiel take, undoes him and he grabs at Dean and pulls him closer. Dean lets him and plants a small kiss on the edge of Castiel’s mouth, shushing him. "It's okay," he whispers, and Castiel lets himself believe it.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispers, unsure if the apology is for his actions in the past or for crying in the present. Dean gathers him up in his arms and holds him close. “You’ll be here in the morning?” Castiel whispers to Dean’s chest. He feels Dean nod and kiss the top of his head.

*

Castiel wakes up and the first thing he is aware of is that his bed is empty. His apartment is silent. He knows what he will find if he leaves his bedroom, and isn't surprised when he does and there is no one.

What surprises him is how much it  _hurts_.

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel throws himself into cleaning his apartment. He dumps the remaining beer down the drain and recycles all of the cans. 

A week later, after he has effectively scrubbed and flushed all trace of Dean out of his apartment, his phone rings. It's Dean. Castiel presses the ignore button. He's not going to pretend it isn't over. He's not going to pretend anything can be salvaged. 

Unfortunately, the person on the other end doesn't take the hint. Dean keeps calling him, at least once a day, sometimes more than once. 

Eventually Castiel calls the other Winchester in his contact list.

“Hey Cas, what’s up?” Sam asks cheerfully. He must not know what happened, and Castiel hesitates, not wanting to drag Sam into the middle of drama he knows nothing about, but he says steadily, “I would appreciate if you told your brother I never want to speak to him again.”

Sam is quiet for a long time. Then, he asks, “Are you okay?”

Castiel sighs. “I will be.”

“Do you want me or Jess to come over?”

“No, thank you,” Castiel says.

“We’ll be there if you want us to, you know that, right? We’re on your side.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel says.

* 

Dean stops calling. Castiel pulls himself back into something resembling a functional human and meets Sam and Jess at a bar. He wants to move on without any further fuss, but they watch him with wary eyes as he stares into the amber of his whiskey. He sighs, knowing there is no way to escape an uncomfortable conversation.

Sure enough, Sam asks, “What happened?”

“Sam,” Jess chides.

“I asked him to stay,” Castiel says. “He said yes and then he left.”

“Christ,” Sam says.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. The sad part about this is that it’s been a month, and Castiel is good at shaking things off, but he can’t do it this time. He feels humiliated whenever he thinks of that night, not because of the sex, but because he’d bared his soul and Dean ignored it. Castiel isn’t a fool; he knows that his whispered confession did nothing to change the situation. He wasn’t expecting Dean to stay in any permanent capacity, but he expected something. An adult conversation, Dean telling him it was over, anything other than that crushing second disappointment in the morning. 

Jess bumps him gently and lays a hand on his arm. Sam smiles at him awkwardly but earnestly, and Castiel knows that even though they are technically pulled between him and Dean, they aren't going to abandon him. It makes him think that although this hurts, he is going to be able to move on from this. Even if this is a part of his life that he can never forget, it doesn't have to rule everything about him.

He brushes Dean from his mind. It isn’t easy, exactly, because the Cardinals make it to the playoffs and all the way to the World Series, though they don’t win. Whenever Castiel hears baseball talk, he reminds himself firmly that Dean isn’t worth even getting angry with, and he manages. That is, until Sam calls him in the middle of the afternoon in February.

“Cas, are you watching the news?” Sam asks.

“No, why?” Cas asks. He’s got his remote in hand, thinking there’s something terrible happening in Uganda or a hurricane on its way to wipe out New York City, but Sam breathes heavily into the phone and says, “It’s Dean. He’s – well he’s coming out. I thought I should tell you. Before.”

“What,” Castiel says blankly. He turns on the TV. It’s already on a news channel, and sure enough, there’s Dean, clearly at a press conference. He’s nodding, looking tense but determined, saying things like, _bisexual, tired of hiding,_ and _it’s time._ Castiel can barely hear it over the thudding of his own heart.

He watches the rest of the press conference. A lot of it doesn’t register, but some of the questions and their answers do.

_Why make the decision to come out at all? As a bisexual man, wouldn’t it be easier to simply date women?_

_Well, not really. When you have a secret, you think everyone else knows, and it drives you crazy trying to keep it hidden. When I’m talking to a guy, even if it’s to a guy I’m not attracted to at all, I get this nagging sense of worry that someone watching will just know. It causes me a lot of stress, it’s really hard to go out to eat. Plus, whenever I pursue something with a woman I’m constantly second guessing myself. Like, am I into her? Or am I just trying to hide?_

_Are you seeing anyone? Is that the reason for your honesty?_

Castiel feels sick. 

_No. Like I said, I’m tired of hiding and worrying._

_Does your timing have anything to do with Michael Sam?_

_Look, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t amazed by that kid’s bravery. Football’s got a lot more macho bullshit than baseball. But no. I’m coming out now because I’ve reached the point in my life when I feel comfortable doing it. I wish I’d been brave enough to come out before I got drafted, but I – I just wasn’t._

Castiel switches off the TV. He doesn’t know what to do. He should call – no, he shouldn’t. He should look at this objectively. Dean is Sam’s brother. He is someone that Castiel might know in a far off capacity. He is a fellow member of the LGBT community, and for those two reasons, Castiel can be happy for him, but from a distance. He doesn’t need to call him.

Dean calls him, once. Castiel stares at the phone as it vibrates, debating with himself viciously. He doesn’t pick up. He knows Dean will ask for forgiveness, and Castiel knows he will grant it. He’s not ready for that.

*

In March, he agrees to host a clinic at the University of Missouri at St. Louis. He calls Dean.

“Cas?” Dean says into the phone.

Castiel opens his mouth and realizes he has no idea what he’s doing. “I – this was a bad idea.”

“No,” Dean says quickly. “Don’t go. Just – why did you call?”

“I’m going to be at UMSL in May. You told me to call if I ever –“

“What are the dates?”

“May 2nd and 3rd.”

“I’ll check my schedule.”

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut. “This was a mistake, I –“

“Please,” Dean says. “Let me check my schedule.”

Castiel is struck with the urge to slap himself. There’s no rational excuse for this type of behavior. He is weak. This will wreck him.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“We have a homestand. I’ve got a night game May 2 and a day game May 3. Are you going to stay in town after?”

Castiel should lie. He should tell Dean he’s flying back out immediately even though he hasn’t booked tickets yet.

“Cas?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, we’ve got a day off on May 4, so maybe I can show you around then. Okay?”

“Fine,” Castiel says quickly. He lost control of this conversation the moment he picked up the phone. The only thing he can do is try to limit the damage.

“You can stay with me,” Dean offers. “I’ve got a guest bed. I’m close to the airport if you’re flying through Lambert.” 

“I –“

“Up to you, of course,” Dean adds hastily.

“I want to be close to the university," Castiel says.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean agrees.

“Maybe the night of May 3rd,” Castiel says, and curses himself.

“Great! I can take you to the airport when you’re due to leave.”

Castiel needs to end this conversation before Dean convinces him of something else. “Yes, fine, I must go now, goodbye.”

“Cas, wait –“ He hangs up the phone before he does something else stupid. 

He doesn’t tell Sam or Jess, because he knows they would disapprove. He disapproves of his own actions, but there’s not much he can do about it now. He just has to be sure that he doesn’t let Dean subsume him again.

When he’s done with the clinic, he walks outside to make his way to the hotel and Dean is waiting. 

“Dean,” Castiel says, drawing up short at the sight of him. “I thought –“

“We were meeting for dinner, but I was kind of scared you’d skip out on me,” Dean says with a grin.

The thought had occurred to him. Castiel doesn’t smile back, and Dean’s grin fades. He coughs awkwardly into his hand and shifts. “Well, anyway, I’m here, so… do you want a ride to your hotel?”

“Sure.”

Dean is a model of politeness. He stands well back from Castiel and doesn’t try to touch him apart from a handshake. It’s awkward, but Castiel appreciates the boundary. When they go out to eat at the barbeque place Dean swears is the best in town, they sit on opposite sides. When Dean shows him around his home, a beautiful colonial house in a place near the city that feels more like the country, he doesn’t even show Castiel his bedroom, beyond indicating that it’s at the end of the hall. In the morning, Dean makes him pancakes, which are somehow even better than Castiel remembers, and then they go on a tour of the city. They spend some time in the downtown area and of course they see the Arch. After lunch, Dean drives him to the airport. Castiel is honestly impressed by their conduct until they pull up the departure drop off area and Dean wraps his hand around Castiel’s wrist.

“Cas, wait.”

“Dean –“

“I did it for you,” Dean says in a rush. He winces. “That sounds bad. I did it for me, but – it was for you.”

“Let go,” Castiel says quietly, trying to tug away, but the grip Dean has on him is strong.

Dean takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “I know I messed up, but I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. Not ever.”

Castiel yanks away. He can't listen to this. He grabs his suitcase out of the backseat, thanking whatever kept him from throwing it into the trunk. He strides away from the car as firmly as he can, but once he gets into the airport Dean catches up with him.

“Cas, please don’t leave.”

Castiel’s voice shakes when he says, “You do not get to say that to me.”

“I know, I know, but – look will you just stop for a second?” Dean grabs him by the shoulder and spins him around. His hands go to Castiel's arms and grip him tight. Castiel struggles and refuses to look at him. 

“I have a plane to catch,” he says flatly.

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“They’re going to tow your car,” Castiel says.

“I don’t care!” Dean yells. Castiel flinches and meets his eyes. Dean’s are angry. “I need you, okay?”

“You need me?" Castiel repeats incredulously. "That's why you fuck me like I don't matter?" Laughter bursts out of him, even though there is nothing humorous about this.

"You do matter," Dean says. "I was scared. I didn't know what to do."

Castiel grits his teeth and knows there is one thing he can say that will make Dean let go. "When I told you I'd loved you," he hisses. "I lied."

Dean's eyes widen, and Castiel has a moment of absolute satisfaction when the grip Dean has loosens and he takes an uncertain step back. “Cas,” he whispers.

Castiel wheels around and heads toward airport security. As he winds his way through the lanes, he catches glimpses of Dean watching him from the upper level of the airport. When Castiel risks a glance back after he’s collected his things from the x-ray machine, Dean is gone. He makes it all the way to the terminal, congratulating himself on staying strong, on doing the right thing. He looks at the departures board to make sure his gate hasn’t changed when he thinks to himself, _why?_

Why is this the right thing? It doesn’t feel like the right thing. His apartment is in New York, the majority of his friends are in New York, his job is in New York, and why is going back there the right thing? He racks his brain, knuckles turning white on his suitcase as he tries to think of one reason why getting on the plane is a good idea.

He is operating under the assumption that he is unhappy when he is with Dean, when in fact, the opposite is true. His unhappiness with Dean is based on the fact that he can't be with Dean. And here he is, standing in the terminal of an airport getting ready to leave. 

Laughter bubbles up out of lips. The woman next to him shoots him a startled look and walks away quickly. He looks down at the suitcase in his hands and thinks about dropping it, but if he does that TSA will tackle him onto the floor and slow him down, so he tightens his grip and spins around.

He must look like a total fool, his suitcase dragging along behind him as he sprints back toward the departures area. Dean isn’t even going to be there anymore, he’s going to be halfway back to his house, but Castiel isn’t going to let him go without a fight this time. This isn’t going to be another regret.

His heart is pounding rapidly by the time he makes it outside, and not just from the exertion. He spots Dean leaning against one of the windows, eyes closed.

“Dean,” Castiel says. His eyes snap open, beautiful and open and green, and Castiel lets himself look. He lets himself look over Dean as if he can let himself like what he’s seeing. And he does, he does, he likes all the lines of Dean’s body, his strong hands, his firm jaw, that awed smile that creeps across Dean’s face when he realizes that Castiel is there. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes. “Why?”

“You,” Castiel says simply. When Dean takes a few steps forward, he adds, “people are watching.” He can see them out of the corner of his eyes. One of them raises what looks like a phone.

“I don’t care if you don’t,” Dean says.

Castiel finally lets his stupid suitcase thump to the ground. He reaches for Dean kisses him. It feels like a beginning.

They grin at each other the whole time during their cab ride to the impound lot.

When they finally get the car, after heavy fine and a stern reprimand to never do that again (to which Dean replies, with a wink, that he won’t ever have to and kisses Castiel on the cheek) they head back to his house. In the light of his excitement, the green trees look much more beautiful now than they did a few hours ago, but Castiel has eyes only for Dean. Dean catches him staring and smirks. “Last time you looked at me like that, I got laid.”

“Presumptuous,” Castiel says.

Dean looks at him from the corner of his eye, not turning away from the traffic. Castiel wishes he could see the green of his iris. “You know, there’s always something I wanted?” Castiel makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat. Dean says simply, “You, naked and gorgeous in this car.”

Dean’s words and the timber of his voice, the way it’s gone deep and hoarse, sends a pulse of arousal through him. It’s reckless, but Castiel feels giddy and invincible, so he hums and starts unbuttoning his shirt.

“Oh Jesus,” Dean says. “You’re –“

By the time Dean manages to pull off the highway and onto a street deserted enough to stop, Castiel has his shirt all the way unbuttoned and his hand in his pants. He’s been groaning, purposely and obnoxiously, watching the bulge in Dean’s pants get more and more pronounced, and when Dean jerks the car to a halt and reaches for him Castiel laughs. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Cas, gonna get us killed, gonna get us arrested,” Dean says between kisses. He bats Castiel’s hand out of the way, and Castiel is about to suggest that they get into the backseat when Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and folds over to sink his mouth over Castiel’s dick.

“Dean,” Castiel groans. He’d forgotten this, the extent of the pleasure from Dean’s mouth. The heady rush that came from the knowledge that Dean wanted him bad enough to suck him off. He hitches his hips, but carefully, because he knows the angle is probably terrible and he doesn’t want to hurt Dean, or God forbid, do anything to make him stop. Dean just hums and hollows his cheeks even more, tonguing at him until Castiel is a writhing mess. After only a few minutes, Castiel tugs on Dean’s hair to warn him. “Dean, I – Dean I’m going to –“ Dean doesn’t pull off him, and Castiel comes into his mouth. Dean chokes a little, but he recovers and swallows the rest of him. When he pulls off him, his lips look wet and filthy. Castiel would like to return the favor, he really would, but he wants to kiss the taste of himself out of Dean’s mouth more so he jerks him off instead. Dean groans when he comes, not needing more than a handful of strokes.

“Fuck, Cas.”

“Yes please,” Castiel says, smiling. He feels young, he feels amazing.

Dean chuckles. He starts the car again. “We’re thirty minutes away from the house. Think you can hold on that long?”

“Can you?” Castiel asks. He drags his hand down, starting at his neck and ending just above his cock. He’s not hard, but Castiel bets he can get it up again before they reach the house.

“Do not touch yourself,” Dean warns. “I will crash the car and we will die, and that means we’re not gonna be able to fuck. Do you want that, Cas?”

“I guess not,” Castiel replies. He doesn’t touch himself. He does, however, lick Dean’s come off his fingers one by one, sucking on them thoroughly before taking them out with a pop. He isn’t quite sure where this bravado is coming from, but he likes seeing Dean flustered, so when he’s cleaned his hand he reaches over and gathers up some of the mess on Dean’s shirt to do it all over again.

Less than thirty minutes later, Castiel is on Dean’s bed being kissed within an inch of his life. Dean’s just as naked as he is, legs on either side of Castiel’s hips so they can rock against each other. “Fuck me, please,” Cas whispers brokenly. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted Dean more than he wants him in this moment. Even when they were in college, a part of him held back. He’d been cautious, and he doesn’t want to be that anymore.

“Okay, yeah,” Dean replies. He rolls over and starts rooting through his bedside table. Castiel takes the opportunity to scoot farther up the bed. Dean pauses. “Actually, no. I want you to fuck me. If that’s okay?”

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks, propping himself up so that he can look at Dean properly. Dean nods and hands him the lube. “Don’t you have a game tomorrow?” Even though they hadn’t spoken about it, Castiel always knew that the reason Dean was reluctant to bottom was because he had to be active nearly every day. Castiel never resented it. 

“Exactly,” Dean says. “I want to feel you tomorrow. I want to be reminded that you’re here.” As he speaks, he rolls onto all fours. “Do it, Cas.”

Who is Castiel to deny him? He pops the cap and starts preparing Dean. He’s very careful, more careful than he’s been with anyone else, because this is Dean. He falls apart beautifully beneath his hands, breathy moans and shaking limbs. By the time Castiel thinks he’s ready, Dean is twitching and groaning and pushing back against his fingers. Castiel eyes the unopened condom and thinks about asking if Dean is clean, but decides against it. This is too new, it can be saved for another time. As he rips it open and rolls it on, he asks instead, “Can I see you?”

In answer, Dean rolls over, spreading his legs and smiling at him encouragingly. Castiel manages to grab a pillow and shove it under Dean’s hips before he lets himself push in.

“Oh, Cas, _fuck,_ ” Dean groans out. Castiel smiles, happy that this, at least, hasn’t changed. Dean’s vocabulary has always leaned towards profanity, especially in the middle of sex. He’s glad Dean hasn’t grown out of it. Castiel shifts, one hand sliding behind Dean’s thigh so he has leverage to tilt Dean’s body, and the other goes behind Dean’s neck. He pulls up slightly, so that Dean’s head tips back. Castiel lowers his mouth to Dean’s skin. He’s tempted to suck, to make blood rush to the surface and stay, but he shouldn’t. They aren’t young, and Dean is a public presence. He contents himself with feeling the vibrations of Dean’s throat against his lips each time he slides forward.

“Jesus, I’m so fucking sorry,” Dean says.

Castiel doesn’t need to ask. “I’m here now,” he says, pulling back so that he can look into Dean’s eyes.

“You are,” Dean replies, “I don’t understand –“

Castiel kisses him. He doesn’t want to talk about the past, not right now. Dean seems to understand, because he digs his fingers into Castiel’s hair and kisses him right back. Castiel keeps a steady rhythm going through it, but he doesn’t thrust hard enough to risk breaking their kiss.

Dean is the one to stop the kiss. “Fuck me properly,” he says. “What part of ‘I want to feel you tomorrow’ do you not understand?”

“You are so bossy,” Castiel growls. He digs his toes into the mattress, though, and uses the extra bit of leverage to shove in harder. Dean’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open. When Castiel lets go of his neck so he can grab Dean by the hips and pull him in at the same time, Dean’s head falls back. He looks like a sacrifice, mouth gaping, nipples peaked and neck on display. Next time, Castiel promises, he’ll lean down, slow down, relearn the ways Dean’s body has changed, but he tells himself – he knows – that he’ll have time for that later, forever. He keeps fucking Dean instead, using his legs and pushing himself in with more of his body behind it every time until Dean’s head flies up. 

“There,” Dean pants. “Fuck Cas, _right there._ ”

It takes a few tries to get the angle right so that Castiel can brush against Dean’s prostate both hard and precisely, but when he does, Dean’s head falls back. “Don’t you dare,” Castiel warns. “Don’t you dare look away.” Dean groans but snaps his eyes up to look into Castiel’s. Castiel wonders what he looks like. He can feel sweat starting to bead on his forehead and curl his hair. He must look half-animal, and he certainly feels it, the urge to fuck Dean hard, make him _his_ coming from somewhere deep and uncontrollable within him. Dean doesn’t seem to mind. He stares up at Castiel and whispers his name brokenly. Castiel’s name never sounds so good as when Dean says it. “Touch yourself,” Castiel prompts.

Dean does, and a few short moments later, comes while looking into Castiel’s eyes. Castiel follows a second later, grinding deep and against Dean’s prostate in a way that makes Dean’s eyes flutter and his body shake. Castiel pulls out and rolls off Dean, breathing heavily. The condom is still on his penis, looking strange now that his penis is softening, but Castiel is honestly too exhausted to do anything about it. In all the excitement he forgot that he was nearing thirty and shouldn't have two orgasms in less than an hour. Dean is the one to deal with it, sliding it off and tossing it into the trash. “Jesus Christ, Cas,” he says. “Didn’t know you had that in you.”

“You continually underestimate my sexual prowess,” Castiel says, slapping Dean in the chest lightly. “It’s irritating.”

Dean laughs, rolling on top of Castiel and kissing him. “Never again,” Dean promises. 

Later, when Castiel has a mouth full of flatbread pizza, Dean says, “We should talk, shouldn't we?"

“Very well,” Castiel says, giving Dean his full attention.

Dean looks very uncomfortable. “Don’t look at me like that,” he mutters.

“Like what?” Castiel asks.

“Like you – Jesus Cas. I treated you like shit. Don’t look at me like –“

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel cuts him off. “Listen to me very carefully. _It doesn’t matter._ I don’t care what happened back then. I care about what happens now.”

Dean throws his hands up. “What, so we should just pretend –“

Castiel has heard enough. He pushes his plate away and covers Dean’s mouth with his hand. Dean’s eyes widen comically, and Castiel would laugh if this weren’t so serious. He needs to make sure Dean understands. This is the type of thing that could wreck them if they don’t deal with it properly. “You are going to listen to me, Dean Winchester. You told me you needed me. That’s enough." He takes his hand away from Dean's mouth and continues. "Everything good about my life has come from you. My music, my friends. You taught me how to love.”

Dean’s breath hitches. “Cas…”

“Tell me what you want,” Castiel demands. “And don’t think about the past. What do you want, right now? What do you want tomorrow?”

“Cas, this is crazy. You have a life in New York, your job –“

“Don’t think about that,” Castiel urges. “Think about what you want tomorrow.”

“I want you to come to my game,” Dean says. “And then I want you to come home with me. I don’t ever want you to go back to New York.” Castiel nods and leans back, satisfied. He takes Dean’s hand and squeezes it. Dean ducks his head. “I know that you can't promise never to leave,” he says quietly. “But you don't have to tomorrow.”

“No,” Castiel agrees. “Not tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> THE END!!
> 
> WHEEEEEEEE!
> 
> This story has been haunting me from my computer for over two years. Thank goodness.
> 
> Some notes:   
>  Title is from I Can't Stop Loving You by Ray Charles  
>  I don't play the piano or professional baseball, but I do know a lot about college level music programs, and Pro Baseball in general. I would still be shocked if everything is accurate.   
>  I also didn't go to Harvard. I am not that awesome. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


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